Shadows of Futures Past
by STEVEN ROBESON
Summary: Not every survivor of the Cylon holocaust escaped with the Galactica, nor were they on the homeworlds when the attacks occured...This is the story of one band of those left behind and their struggle to survive...
1. Chapter 1

**"**_**Shadows of Futures Past"**_

**Another Saga of Human Survival of the **

**Cylon Holocaust in the Year of Kobol 3517**

**By Steven James Robeson**

**Inspired By the Story**

**"Battlestar Galactica"**

**and**

**"Saga of a Star World"**

**By Mr. Glen A. Larson**

**And As "Re-Imagined" In the 2003-2009 SciFi Television Series**

**"Battlestar Galactica"**

**By Messers Ronald D. Moore and David Eick**

**This Unpublished Work Is Copyrighted ©(2009), **

**Under The Laws of the United States of America By Steven James Robeson. **

**Unauthorized Use Of This Original Work Will Be Prosecuted.**

**ALL RIGHTS NOT RESERVED BY THE ORIGINAL INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OWNERS ARE RETAINED BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK.**

PROLOGUE

"_In The Beginning…"_

It has been over three centuries since the destruction of the original Colonial Homeworlds. Over three millennia of our history prior to that tragedy were lost in those horrific and ominous years. Much of what we consider today as "the truth" about that era is based partially upon oft retold tales, handed down generation to generation, and partially upon the few reliable archives that actually survived the onslaught. Those tribes of humans that also survived the holocaust worked diligently to preserve what few of the old libraries, both printed and electronic, that they had at their disposal. Tragically, most of those resources were only satellite facilities of greater archives and were not, in-and-of-themselves, complete.

We are indebted to those ancestors who had the foresight to recognize the need to protect our heritage and the fortitude to do what it took in the face of great personal tragedy and sacrifice.

That we will never have a full, true accounting for all of the events leading up to the devastation of the Colonial homeworlds is certain. The three centuries of peace that man and Cylon have enjoyed since then have been occasionally tempered by the reticence of the Central Cylon to share certain historical archives. However unlikely the premise, there is clear evidence that they remain anxious over any re-examination of the events of that period for fear of a possible resurgence of violence and a perceived need for revenge. That the Worlds of Kobol might ever seek to re-stoke a long since quenched fire is unthinkable, especially in light of humanity's lack of resources for war-making.

That the Central Cylon continues to believe that there is a need to keep the complete truth from us is disheartening and, to some small degree, somewhat chilling.

To the majority of our society, the Year of Kobol 3517 is known simply as the 'The Fall'.

To others, it is the Second Colonial / Cylon War. That title, however, is a misnomer of gross disproportion. The Cylon attacks on humanity were swift, severe and decisive. With the exception of a small number of warships and civilian freighters (which we will discuss in a moment) and numerous small enclaves in the lesser impacted zones on the homeworlds, the bulk of the human civilization was destroyed in the opening hour of the attacks. While there were a few fierce battles in space and an enthusiastic but unorganized resistance by a few survivors thereafter, to call that period a 'war' is permissive at best.

To a numerically few but markedly vocal religious sect, this period is known as 'The Reckoning Of The One True God'.

In the four decades after the initial Cylon exodus from the Colonial homeworlds (which occurred in YKb 3477) and in the war that ensued, the Cylons came to manifest a monotheistic belief in an un-named deity that they refer to simply as 'the one true god.' It is believed that this belief was adopted from a segment of our own society, a group known as "Soldiers of The One" which appeared approximately sixty years before "The Fall". That order has undergone numerous reformations, and has since come to become known by its Gemonese name of 'Zar'au Om Dominem'. Literally translated into traditional Caprican, it means "Faithful of the One."

The basic tenant of their faith is that this single, omnipotent deity commanded the Cylon to undertake the attacks on Colonial society with the belief that this deity's great master plan would place them as the head of the known worlds. Then, for reasons unknown, this deity then manifested the Great Cylon Awakening which precipitated the Cylon civil war, but also resulted in the final peace between Cylon and humans.

That the order of Zar'au Om Dominem formed after that era and during the Colonial Reformation only serves to suggest that its leaders took advantage of an overwhelming desire to believe that there was some greater good in the holocaust. More objectively, however, by placing the onus of responsibility on this un-indictable deity, the Central Cylon and the Federal Government of the Worlds of Kobol could be absolved of any complicity in the deaths of billions of humans and Cylon alike.

Of the few archives that the Central Cylon has made available is that of the exodus of the homeworlds by a great fleet of starships that rallied around a gallant capital warship called Galactica. That this event occurred is corroborated by human and Cylon archive alike. The details of that exodus, however, are piecemeal at best.

It is believed that this fleet, estimated to be anywhere from 30,000 to 100,000 survivors on forty to fifty ships, set out to find the prophesized thirteenth tribe of humans that were cited in the Testament of Pythia, only to be hounded by a fanatical Cylon leader known as Cavil. Cylon and Colonial archives of this exodus ended abruptly in YKb 3521 with the reported destruction of the Galactica, her civilian fleet, and the scattering of what few humans remained. All efforts to find any remnants of this fleet or the Cylon factions that pursued them since our repatriation to the Homeworlds have been to no avail.

We also now know that the Cylon Holocaust did not enjoy unanimous support by the entire Cylon civilization. There were members of the Cylon society that, although unable to prevent the holocaust, were later able to bring about changes in the Central Cylon that led to the Cylon Civil War and the restoration of our own society and the preservation of our species. For whatever greater altruistic reason they did it, those few Cylons refused to allow our species to simply be lost to the ages, and are due our respect and gratitude.

That we now share our peace and prosperity with those who initially sought to exterminate us is testimony to the undeterable human spirit, our resilience to adversity, and our indelible propensity to forgive.

This story is based upon the chronicles of one band of those human survivors. It is taken from both archived records and from personal journals that have survived the ravages of time. We present this story so that future generations might learn of and appreciate their heritage, and to give thanks to those who refused to go quietly into the night. It is to these brave and determined survivors of the Year of Kobol 3517 that this telling is dedicated.

Board of Governors of the Federal Historical Archive

Castle New Baeleigh, Caprica

YKb 3833 / 05 / 22

PART ONE

_The Flight of the Breaker Castle_

CHAPTER ONE

The space between Aerilon and her major moon, Azur'a, was some of the most heavily traveled space inside the Colonial Perimeter. Much of the interplanetary shipping of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol passed through here, yet the sector trailing just five light-seconds behind the orbit of the massive moon was a desolate place. This moving target was the keyhole through which faster-than-light ships arrived at Aerilon, and those who knew better avoided entering here like the plague.

To those who wandered here unaware, it was a place of almost certain death. If the translight vortex of an arriving ship opened on top of you, the subspace distortion would rip you, and whatever ship you were in, apart. Colonial Search and Rescue vessels knew this place all-to-well and knew that the number of survivors of such incidents was nil. Those who did survive to tell about it suffered horrifically.

To the pilots who traveled here and the aerospace traffic controllers that watched over them, this place was known as Point Daggit. It was named that as it loomed in the shadow of the well known image that the shadow of one of Azur'a's craters made, giving all those who viewed it the impression of a smiling wild daggit. To those who traveled the commercial cargo circuit it was a welcome signpost to the end of a long trek.

It was here that the deep space freighter Breaker Castle dropped out of its translight vortex, it's final destination; Aerilon Spaceport. As the ship recovered from the jump effect, Captain Jahlee Rohs, master of the giant space freighter, scanned the instrument panel for any indication of post-translight malfunction or navigation error. As she had been rewarded so many times before, the nav board was green. Another flawless arrival would go into the Breaker Castle's logbook, due in no small part to the excellent stewardship of her captain and crew.

The BeeCee, as the Breaker Castle was affectionately known, had just completed her fifth supply run to the outer mining posts this season. She'd made deliveries to several Colonial Fleet _Distance, Ranging And Defense Identification System_, or DRADIS, installations. Those outposts were the first line of defense of the Colonial homeworlds, and as such were as close to the Colonial / Cylon demarcation line as any Colonial ship, military or civilian, dared to go. She had also made deep space rendezvous with the Battlestars Oreyus and Galactica. It had been a long six weeks and now Captain Rohs was ready to park the BeeCee and enjoy some unfiltered air and real sunlight. Aerilon wasn't home, but it would do just fine for some overdue R & R.

The Breaker Castle was unique among her counterparts in the Colonial Merchant Fleet. Unlike many of her competitors, the BeeCee was also designed to be a terrestrial freighter. Her sleek contours and aerodynamic flight surfaces served to create graceful, almost majestic lines. Even in the darkest voids of space, the BeeCee _looked _like she was traveling fast, even when she was at a dead stop or moored. Only a handful of executive transports and the newest Colonial Fleet fighters and warships could best her at sublight speeds.

At one hundred and twenty meters long and thirty meters abeam, she wasn't a small ship for atmospheric operations, either. Even now, her hold held a combination of environmental pods for passengers and cargo pods for goods. And nestled between those pods were a Colonial Fleet Raptor and two Mark II Vipers headed for the refit station on Aerilon. Yes, the BeeCee was truly a magnificent and versatile ship.

And Captain Rohs was as unique as the ship she mastered. A little over one and a half meters tall and barely fifty kilos, she hardly looked the part of a deep space freighter captain. Wire-framed glasses sat on the end of her nose and long brown locks flowed to her mid-back. At a distance, Captain Rohs looked more like a middle school student than accomplished star-pilot. Yet accomplished _and_ skilled she was.

Unlike many of her colleagues, though, Rohs was a hands-on pilot. Whenever the opportunity arose and company policy allowed (and sometimes _despite_ company policy), she would happily switch off the autopilot and do a little stick-and-rudder flying. A former Viper driver in the Colonial Fleet, it was often difficult for others to tell where the human stopped and the machine started. Rohs almost melted into the controls. She knew every vibration, every squeak, every mechanical nuance of her ship. More than one of the captain's peers had marveled at how she was able to put this monster of a space truck into the smallest of LZ's and not even scratch the paint. When she got into the left seat of this or any other ship, it was more like she strapped the ship on rather than strapping into it. If anyone had been prejudiced by her physical stature before flying with her, they were forever a believer afterwards.

The captain's reputation was as well known to her passengers as it was to her colleagues, too. Many were the passengers that had been known to book passage on the BeeCee, not because of the economy of flying on a minimalist cargo ship, but because of who was flying it. And no one expected less today. Aerilon Spaceport was one of the largest facilities of its kind on any of the Colonial worlds and Spaceport City was one of Aerilon's largest metropolises. With landing pads and runways covering several square kilometers, anyone who botched a landing here probably shouldn't be flying. For Captain Rohs, it would be the proverbial milk run.

Over the years Rohs had learned to love the language of flying as much as the flying itself and the implied professionalism between pilots and aerospace traffic controllers. Now it was time to put that skill to work. She cleared her throat once, then her left thumb found the wireless transmit button on the throttle quadrant. She flipped it up.

"_Aerilon Center, this is Colonial Merchant Freighter Breaker Castle, Uniform Sierra One Seven Seven Five Mike Charlie, out of translight at Point Daggit for the Aerilon Three approach, requesting aerobraking approach to full stop at Colonial Fleet Maintenance Depot_…"

As she took her thumb off of the transmit button, Captain Rohs could almost imagine the look of astonishment on the controller's face. Most pilots were content to use the Gravity Attenuated Braking System rather than spend fifteen minutes "riding the fire" as the old timers now called it. GABS allowed re-entering spacecraft to actually use an energy field that worked against a planet's own magnetic field to slow it down, eliminating the need for expensive heat tile replacements and frequent paint jobs. But where was the fun in that?

"_Breaker Castle, Aerilon Approach, roger your request for Aerilon Three, DRADIS contact, squawk code five two two, descent approved as requested, advise prior to entering blackout for final traffic advisory_." The controller's voice was smooth and well spoken. He'd obviously been doing this for more than a day or two!

Captain Rohs smiled with the immediate reply and approval for her request. She was looking forward to the ride down.

Time to get busy. Rohs turned to her First Officer, Will Cately, and gave him that "Let's Get It Done" smile and nod that he knew all-too-well. Rohs and Cately had been flight crew partners for two years now and Cately already had the aerobraking approach checklist on his electronic flight instrument system display. Theirs was a well-tuned routine in the cockpit.

Cately also enjoyed the sense of fulfillment that hands-on flying provided, although being out of wireless contact for the time it took to get through the atmosphere often left him a bit edgy. The Aerilon approach left him even _more_ edgy since it was the second largest planet in the system. That meant a longer time until they would be back in contact with approach control.

No matter…Will was as equally skilled in the cockpit as Rohs. Although he'd never flown for the Colonial Fleet, he had been in the cockpit of one sort of air or space craft almost since puberty. He even had his card to fly Vipers and Raptors as a ferry pilot. As a child, Cately would insist that his father toss him into the air, crying out "Up, Daddy! Up, Daddy!" He was a natural aviator. No doubt he'd been a bird of some sort in a previous life, or would be in the next.

The checklist completed, Rohs set the DRADIS squawk code as directed and tugged on her restraint belts one more time. Last item on the list, Rohs clicked her intercom from "COCKPIT" to "INTERSHIP".

"OK folks, this is Captain Rohs, we're beginning our approach to Aerilon. Everyone to their stations and ready for aerobraking." She thought about adding a quip about tipping the stewardess, however her load master might not find the humor in it.

Unlike a regular spaceliner, the BeeCee didn't have stewards or stewardesses so the BeeCee's Loadmaster, Greto Park, would make a quick tour of the cabin and make sure the folks in the pods were belted in for the ride down. A burly man in his mid 40's, Park would be hard to miss in any crowd. One might almost be intimidated by his bulk at first, but it only took the average person a minute or two to see what a gentle, beguiling bear he _really_ was!

This time the loadmaster's rounds would be brief as this trip only had thirty six Colonial Fleet personnel and a dozen miners, all on their way to Aerilon to enjoy some of the same fresh air and sunlight that Rohs and crew were likewise anticipating.

As Park finished his checks of the cabin and cargo holds, Flight Engineer Brad Westling called forward from "The Pit" as he liked to call his little world in Engineering. "Captain, Engineering, FTL drive is stand-by, atmospheric flight surfaces ready to deploy at your discretion. Sublight throttles to manual. All airlocks secured and long range DRADIS array stowed. The ship is clean."

If there was a grease monkey who was better at turning the bolts of a star freighter anywhere in the Colonies, Rohs hadn't heard of them. Brad Westling was as good as they came. Other mechanics 'best' was his average, and he was at his _very_ best when things were at their absolute worst. Not that there were many times that Rohs had to call on those talents, but she was able to sleep well on deep space trips knowing that Westling was on _her_ crew and not someone else's.

Just after the engineer's call, Greto Park finished his rounds and called up to the cockpit. "The passengers are tucked-in, Skipper. All cargo and gear secured and ready for aerobraking descent. _Let's park this buggy!_ I'm looking forward to a meal that doesn't have a "Remove Before Microwaving" label on it!

Rohs had to allow herself a chuckle. There was a certain romance and way of life in the merchant fleet to be sure, but there were it's drawbacks, too, and Greto had hit it on the head…nothing beat a fire-braised steak!

One more glance over the board, then the captain gazed out at the great ball of blue and green that was looming in the windscreen. She allowed herself the momentary luxury of trying to catch a glimpse of the beaches of the Greater Aerilonian Ocean, a small plot of which she soon hoped to be holding down with a new bathing suit bought on Caprica just for this occasion. Satisfied that the BeeCee was ready to commit to the approach, she keyed the wireless again.

"_Aerilon Approach, Breaker Castle is outer marker for aerobraking approach, DRADIS squawk five two two with fifty two souls aboard, we'll be comms no joy in thirty seconds_."

The captain thought Approach was taking an unusually long time to respond…or maybe it was just that she was anxious to get down and into the showers. Odd, sometimes, that ten seconds could seem like an eternity, and at other times less time than it took to snap your fingers.

"_Breaker Castle, Aerilon Approach, DRADIS contact confirmed. You're cleared for the Aerilon Three approach, however be advised we have several primary targets at your six o'clock. No DRADIS squawk and they're keeping pace with you about 300 clicks back. Looks like you might be dragging some debris out of translight with you. I'll advise further when you clear blackout_."

"Oh…great" Rohs said out loud. "Some of that junk will land in the Mayor General's driveway. Won't _that_ look good on the cover of _Space Freighter News_ next month?" She took a deep breath and let the sigh out.

Cately, seeing the Captain's dismay, tried to allay her anxiety. "No problem, Skipper. If it's not big enough for Center to wave us off the approach, then they can't be big enough to get through the atmosphere and cause any damage. Ought to be a pretty light show, though!"

"Let's hope that's _all_ that happens! If any of that junk hits atmosphere I won't hear the end of it for six months!" Rohs chuckled then clicked her wireless transmit again. "_Aerilon, BeeCee, we're no joy on the traffic right now, but we'll keep our eyes open_…"

Yeah…Right…'eyes open'. Not that it would do much good while in re-entry. They could set a nuke off right next to the cockpit and no one would be able to see it through the ionized gasses that surround the ship while descending.

She had no idea how prophetic that thought would be.

TWO

The male announcer's voice on the wireless was excited. "….._and we'll have more local and system-wide sports results at the top of the hour. Now here's our own Wendy Wilcox with how our day's weather is shaping up in Spaceport City and other points around the Colony…Wendy!"_

The female announcer quickly chimed in. She too, was excited about the previous evening's ball scores, and the weather, as pleasant as it was, was just going to have to take a back seat for a few seconds. _"Thanks, Bill! And that must have been a truly disappointing loss for the Caprican Seabucks last night, but what can I say? GO AERILON! Looks like our own Coach Mayville's hard decisions about his opening string for the second home playoff game paid off, and paid off handsomely!"_

The male announcer was just nodding in agreement until he remembered they were doing the wireless show, not television, and all of his 'body language' cues were worthless at the moment. Blushing , he rushed to fill the silent signal. "_So true, Wendy…But the Lords of Kobol know that every last man and woman on that team was ready to do what needed to be done to win, and by golly, win is what they did!" _Another off-the-cuff ad lib had saved the moment.

_"Well, Aerilonians…" _continued the female announcer_, "… last night's game may have been a disappointment for our brethren on Caprica and the Seabucks themselves, but if you're in The City for tonight's fireworks, you're in for one spectacular day AND night! We awoke to an absolutely cloudless day with temperatures that will climb to an all-day, shirt-sleeve comfortable high of thirty four. There's going to be a southwest breeze coming over the Greater Aerilonian Ocean into Spaceport City most of today and sea-states for you beach goers is going to be a fantastic three to six…Just enough for you waveboarders to find something to do, yet still calm enough right at the water's edge to let granny and the kiddies wade in for a great time. Sunset will come at 18:35 with those breezes calming down as the sun sets. The fireworks start at precisely 20:00, so have those picnic dinners and lawn chairs ready for one show you'll never forget!_

GaeLynn Adama switched the wireless off and took her last bite of a doughnut she'd been nursing for the last three hours. Realizing that daggit meat was probably more tender, she turned her nose up at the remnants of the drying confection, wrapped it in a piece of paper towel, then sent it on its final journey…into the waste can at the end of the table, courtesy of a well aimed and enthusiastic toss. The wasted morsel flew through the air and went squarely into the basket. Impressed with her own latent Pyramid skills, she snatched another paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, dampened it, and then wiped the sticky remnants of sweetness from her fingers. Pausing for a moment to adjust her skirt and blouse, she then pushed through the swinging door into the darkened but bustling array of DRADIS consoles that made up the bulk of Aerilon Approach Control.

GaeLynn stopped for a moment, allowing her eyes to re-adjust to the low ambient light. Gradually, the finer details of the Center became clear to her once again, and she took in all of the sights and sounds of the facility around her. No matter how many times she stood here, she was always in awe of the workings of the Approach Center. And what awed her most of all was that she was a living, breathing part of all of this technology. It was as if she could feel the pulsing and the ebb and flow of traffic as it passed through Aerilonian space. This was something she was a part of. It was home.

As her eyes adapted to the light, she turned and headed down the row of DRADIS stations to her own. No doubt the technician who relieved her for a break would be wondering if she'd taken a powder and left him hanging. It wouldn't be the first time a traffic controller just upped and walked away. But not GaeLynn.

Seeing her approach in the reflection on the screen in front of him, the young DRADIS specialist who was occupying her station turned to meet her and rose as she approached.

"Well, I hope you'll remember this! I cleaned all of them up for you except for one, the Breaker Castle. She's at the outer marker of the Aerilon Three approach. Enjoy!"

Adama took the technician's hand and shook it briefly. "Thanks, Tony…I have the watch, you are relieved" she said. With that, the svelte, dark skinned beauty took her seat at the DRADIS console, adjusted her seat, and pulled herself into the station. She took the connector-end of the headset that had been hanging around her neck and plugged it into the headphone jack. Her right foot found the wireless transmit switch and she tapped it twice as she affixed the earphones to her head. She heard the reassuring 'click click' in her left ear. She was ready.

Adama watched the Breaker Castle's DRADIS target switch from "ID CONFIRMED" to "ID LOCK LOST" as it entered the atmosphere. DRADIS would continue to watch the target, of course, however the ID mode was inoperative while the ship was surrounded by the ionized gasses of re-entry.

Adama moved her hand to the skew ball next to her console and placed the cursor over the spot where she knew a ship the size of the Breaker Castle should break out of blackout. Few were the targets that she missed by more than the width of one cursor blink.

The young controller sat back in her chair for a moment and took a long draw from her water bottle. Today was her turn in the Deep Space Approach Control, or D-SAC for short. Just a year out of Air and Space Traffic Control School, Adama almost hated this station. Only twenty-three years old, she was, as her supervisor opined, "full of piss and vinegar". When doing local air traffic control in Center, she'd often find herself at the edge of her seat soaking wet from perspiration but absolutely loving it. She thrived on the staccato rate of transmissions, traffic coming and going, and the occasional wayward civil aviator…D-SAC didn't provide that.

Most of the Center veterans looked forward to the break. ASTC controllers had one of the largest burnout rates of any other occupation on Aerilon and it was thought rotating to "slower" stations more often would blunt that trend.

Nonetheless, Adama actually thrived on the challenge of stress. She'd applied to the Colonial Fleet to be a Viper pilot. After all, with her surname, Colonial service was almost a DNA trait. Her only uncle, Bill, (and a half uncle at that…), was a Battlestar commander. His son Lee was a well-known Viper jockey. Her father and mother had served in the Forces as her younger brother did now. Only two generations ago it was almost unheard of for more than one Tauron in a family to serve in any government service, let alone the Armed Forces. But an irregular heartbeat and poor vision nipped her own military aspirations in the bud. At least she was able to obtain her civil aviator's permit and had found a niche at ASTC.

As the Breaker Castle's target continued down the track, the primary targets behind it continued to follow. Adama scooted back to the edge of her chair and laid in the archive of the Breaker Castle's entry from Point Daggit and saw that the targets were still exactly 300 kilometers behind the BeeCee. Strange that, she thought. In her short tenure at Aerilon Center, GaeLynn had seen several instances of ships dragging space debris with them as the residual magnetic forces around ships tended to pull the iron-laden asteroids along.

Something didn't feel right this time, though.

Translight debris would usually dissipate within a couple hundred clicks as the residual magnetic field weakened and the ship drove out of the field.

These were keeping pace.

GaeLynn keyed her intercom. "Watch Supervisor to D-SAC, please…" She'd probably get a ribbing for reporting this, however better a ribbing than a scolding if she allowed space junk of any appreciable mass to hit the atmosphere unannounced.

Eddie Welch was the Watch Supervisor and a lifer at Aerilon Center. Like GaeLynn, he'd applied to the Colonial Forces to fly but got snipped at Medical due to his own health issues. Five years into his new career at ASTC he was offered an opportunity to undergo surgery that could potentially put him into the cockpit, but by now he'd settled into a predictable and secure position. Why bust that?

"What's up, Adama?" His tone was almost satirical as he plugged his headset into the headphone jack next to GaeLynn's.

"Take a look here, Eddie…" She tapped at the dim but persistent primary targets with an almost nervous tic. "Breaker Castle is doing an aerobraking approach to the Spaceport. This stuff behind them has me worried, though…" She pointed out Breaker Castle's avatar and showed him the debris traces she was tracking.

Welch bent over the screen for a closer look, but if the truth be known, the "closer look" he was after was of the 'newbie' in the chair beside him. As much as he loved his job, it certainly didn't offer too many opportunities to socialize. And certainly not with a woman as attractive and comely as she. He granted himself a brief moment to allow his eyes to wander, his mind diverting to the technician's soft black hair and gentle features. If she was wearing any makeup, he couldn't tell, but then makeup would probably only ruin her already lovely complexion. Suddenly he realized that she was turning her head towards him, and he diverted his attention back to the DRADIS screen lest his indiscretion be exposed. For a moment, however fleeting, he'd gazed upon an angel.

Welch reached up to the skew-ball with his right hand and quickly re-centered the target cursor over the primary target traces and hit the 'update' button. In that moment, what he saw sent an ice-cold shock down his spine. He cursed himself for his lapse in attention. Forgotten was the lass in the chair next to him. For a second, he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and in that second, he froze.

This "debris" was _accelerating_.

Instinctively he reached up to the intercom panel and switched from "Civil Net" to "Combat Net".

"_Combat Control, this is Aerilon Supervisor, verify unidentified primary targets on Aerilon Three Approach drafting the Breaker Castle's track, please_…" Welch's normally calm, professional, on-the-air monotone now had a marked sense of urgency and impatience to it. Welch stood up abruptly and glanced down the row of other controllers towards the defense operator's station. He could see them switching their screens to see what Welch and Adama had been watching on theirs.

That's when Adama realized that the "debris" she'd been looking at wasn't debris after all, and a sense of horrifying terror suddenly gripped her.

They were spacecraft.

The Combat Controller didn't even take the time to respond to Welch directly. He no sooner switched from his screen to the Aerilon Three approach that he realized what was going on. The targets were far from being some benign trash. Far from it.

Eddie saw the military controller open the emergency panel above his screen and reach for the red "SCRAMBLE" button on his console. As the controller lifted the switch safeguard, the unthinkable happened…

The lights went out.

"_EMERGENCY POWER NOW_!" bellowed the controller. "ALL STATIONS _RED ALERT_!"

Eddie Welch had already reached for the "emergency power" button, although the automatic generators _should_ have already kicked in. They were controlled by the defense mainframe to respond automatically. They hadn't. Welch knew that it only took three seconds for the power bus to completely switch over in such a case, but only the battery-supplied safety lights were on now and it was creating an eerie, almost ghost-like scene in the center. Each station had it's own battery back-up and Welch had D-SAC up thirty seconds after the power went out. But those thirty seconds were all that incoming ships had needed.

As Adama's screen came back on, she saw Breaker Castle's trace. The BeeCee was still in "ID LOCK LOST" but was almost to the cursor spot marking the expected end of her comms blackout. The "debris" was now well ahead of the BeeCee, however, and almost upon Aerilon Center. Only now there were well over one hundred well defined primary targets and dozens more out at Point Daggit. None were showing Colonial transponders. They must have done a short FTL jump to travel that far that fast, or these were a new combat craft that the Colonials had never seen before.

The Combat Controller reached up to his own intercom panel and keyed his mike on "all stations".

_"THIS IS AERILON COMBAT. SET CONDITION ONE THROUGHOUT THE FACILITY! CONSIDER UNIDENTIFIED TARGETS ON AERILON THREE APPROACH AS HOSTILE, I SAY AGAIN HOSTILE! ALERT VIPERS SCRAMBLE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"_

Welch and Adama could hear the Combat Controller, only four station positions away, barking the scramble orders into the voice powered telephone system's public address system and to the Colonial Forces Base only a few kilometers away.

His last words "…_this is not a drill" _sent a shiver down GaeLynn Adama's spine. What a moment ago seemed like a ghost on the DRADIS screen was now unfolding into an unfathomable horror. She was suddenly terrified, almost to the point of being incapacitated. They were about to be attacked by an enemy unseen by her generation. The Cylons were an enemy her parents and grandparents knew…Not her.

Welch glanced back to Adama's screen. He knew it would take two minutes for the pilots to man-up and get the Ready Alert birds turning. An other thirty seconds to get skids-up, and a minute or two to get overhead.

It wasn't going to be soon enough.

Even though Aerilon Center was deep under ground, Adama could hear muted thuds start to break the calm over her head. Were they bombs? How could they be? They _couldn't _be! The Colonial Fleet would _never_ let any foe get that close! She had never heard bombs exploding before except in movies. These didn't sound anything like those. Maybe they were duds? Then she remembered…She was under 150 meters of dirt and that dirt covered another ten meters of reinforced steel and concrete. What sort of bombs could make that loud of noise this deep in the ground in a hardened bunker?

Over the staircase door, a bright red light began to flash as the bunker doors began to slide shut. The overhead annunciator panel flashed the words she was too terrified to read:

"RADIATION HAZARD"

Now she had her answer.

These weapons were _nuclear_.

If there had been a hope that this was some exercise or misidentified meteor storm, those hopes were now dashed.

Suddenly GaeLynn was startled from her nearly trance-like state by the abrupt return of the Breaker Castle to her wireless headset. Only the fact that she had an ear-piece in her left ear allowed GaeLynn to hear them calling over the din of the thuds and the alarms now sounding all around her.

"_Aerilon Approach this is Breaker Castle out of blackout, how copy_…?"

The calm, male voice must be the Breaker Castle's first officer, she thought. Why she suddenly remembered such a trivial thing as the Captain of the BeeCee being a woman was beyond her. And the tone of the first officer's voice told GaeLynn that the Breaker Castle crew was oblivious to what was happening right in front of them. Can't they see what's happening? Are they blind? How could they be so calm in so terrifying a moment?

Adama mashed the transmit button on her wireless, her own tone now panicked and nearly screaming.

"_BREAKER CASTLE, THIS IS AERILON APPROACH! GO AROUND! I SAY AGAIN GO AROUND! AERILON IS UNDER NUCLEAR ATTACK! DO NOT ATTEMPT A LANDING AT SPACEPORT CITY! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"_

Adama un-keyed her wireless, her finger on the button was pushing so hard it had actually blanched white. She waited a few seconds, and after hearing no response, she keyed the wireless again.

"_BREAKER CASTLE, THIS IS AERILON APPROACH, I SAY AGAIN, AERILON IS UNDER…."_

GaeLynn never had a chance to finish the sentence.

The bunker-buster nuke detonated in the service elevator shaft only 20 meters away from where she sat. The blast doors were closing but not fast enough.

She evaporated at the speed of light.

THREE

Will Cately could only stare across the throttle console that separated him and Captain Jahlee Rohs. Their eyes met for a brief second and neither could believe the look of complete and utter disbelief on the other's face. In their years as the flight deck crew of the Breaker Castle, they'd never known a moment where they couldn't find an answer in the other's eyes. This time, it was fear. It was almost palpable. Cately thought for sure that he could taste it in the back of his mouth, it was so thick and bitter.

Suddenly the computer began barking a warning in a coarse and agitated female voice.

_"STALL IMMINENT! CHECK ATTITUDE! STALL IMMINENT! ADD POWER!_"

came the warnings, repeatedly and with increasing urgency. If Captain Rohs didn't drop the nose or add a _lot _of power, and do it _right now_, the Breaker Castle would quit flying. The BeeCee was an adequate flying machine when handled well, but a stall, even at this altitude, could be deadly to all aboard.

The return to reality was like a jab in the stomach. Rohs instinctively pushed the nose of the BeeCee down to maintain airspeed. Simultaneously, she punched the 'master caution' button to silence the alarms. As the nose of the Breaker Castle dipped below the horizon, the noise of air moving across the windscreen built as the ship's forward airspeed began to increase again. And as the nose fell through the horizon, Rohs and Cately now had a clear view for 100 kilometers in every direction around them.

What they saw was beyond comprehension…it was horrific. They _saw_ it, but was it _real…? _Scattered around them were the distinctive mushroom clouds of nuclear weapons detonations in at least eight places, the most notable being one right about where the spaceport should be.

"_What the_….." Cately's voice trailed off into an almost imperceptible whisper. For the first time in his life, Will Cately had the breath knocked out of him, and no one had laid a hand on him. It was as if the hands of the Gods themselves had suddenly encircled his chest and squeezed the life-sustaining air out of him.

Exactly in the middle of Spaceport City…or at least where Spaceport City was _supposed _to be…was a rapidly rising cloud of blinding fire. There was debris and horrific devastation in every direction. Rohs and Cately could still see the shock wave from the explosive force traveling along the ground in a three hundred sixty degree circle, the leading edge of the wave devouring whatever laid in its way. Nothing escaped.

Rohs shook off the shock and reached up to the throttle quadrant. She leaned into the middle quadrant and started to shove the sublight throttles forward. Cately matched her move and put his left hand over hers, and together they advanced the throttles to the full power detent.

"_Full military power! Sublights spinning up, Captain!", _called Cately. In seconds, the distant whistling of engines at idle rose to a crescendo of thunder as they roared to life. The acceleration was immediate. Rohs and Cately, as well as all aboard the Breaker Castle, were unceremoniously slammed back into their seats as the terrestrial engines roared to life. As the airspeed climbed, Captain Rohs began to haul back on the stick of the massive freighter. The maneuver now shifted the gee-forces from not only pushing everyone deep into their acceleration couches, but bottomed them out into the pan of the seats.

"_C'mon, BeeCee, c'mon! Fly Baby!" _Rohs' grunted the encouragement out between clenched teeth under the gee-forces of acceleration. Yet despite the forces on her diminutive frame, her hand on the stick was still more like a loving caress than a forceful manipulation, and the BeeCee responded in kind. Rohs knew how to get the best from her ship, and right now she and the fifty-one passengers and crew of the Breaker Castle needed every last drop from her full professional skill-set.

Down in The Pit, BeeCee engineer Brad Westling, like everyone else above him, was caught by surprise. "_Now is not the time for Rohs to be playing Viper jockey on those throttles!"_ he said to no one in particular. Like Rohs above him, Westling had to grunt the words out due to the gee forces pinning him to his couch. The BeeCee was a rugged bird, but in the gravity of a planet the size of Aerilon and with the weight she was carrying in her hold, it wouldn't take much to over-stress her.

_That_ could be ugly.

Westling managed to slip his hand to the intercom toggle switch strapped to his chest and keyed the microphone. "Bridge, Engineering…" he grunted…"Skipper, _what's up_…?"

The answer was immediate and demanding. "BRAD! _WE NEED EMERGENCY FTL JUMP IN 30 SECONDS!" _Brad Westling had known Will Cately for years, and in those years he'd _never_ heard him _bark_ an order, let alone raise his voice like that. The implied danger and tone of fear in Cately's voice was like freezing cold water poured down the engineer's spine.

"Well give me a coordinate then, Will! _This isn't a Battlestar_! We can't jump blind!" Westling let loose a vulgarity then powered his seat to move to his own control panel. Working at first against the gee-forces of acceleration, then against the confining straps of his own acceleration couch, Brad pushed back, his fingers punching the buttons on the control panel that would start to take the ship's FTL drive out of "stand-by" and go to "F-T-L READY".

Meanwhile, Captain Rohs was aggressively maneuvering away from Spaceport City. She pushed the stick hard to the left, stomping simultaneously on the left rudder pedal, breaking hard-to-port. The additional gee's from the rough maneuvering added to the forces already pinning crew and passengers alike, tossing them sideways against their restraining straps. As Jahlee rolled wings level, she caught a glimpse of another craft just above her. Without thinking, she pushed the nose of the BeeCee down and under the conflicting craft, throwing her head back over her shoulders as she did, straining to see if she'd safely cleared the other ship. Satisfied that she'd avoided a collision, she then pulled back hard to resume the climb. The Breaker Castle was now climbing at nearly four times the speed of sound, and the gee-forces were climbing just as fast.

Anxious to be sure that she was clear of the conflicting traffic, Captain Rohs again looked back over her shoulder towards the smaller warship. She caught sight of it, and as she did, Rohs saw something drop from its belly. She then saw the distinctive plume of a rocket motor ignite, the smaller object now clearly being a missile of some type, and it was headed towards the Colonial Forces Liaison Field! Instinctively, Rohs banked hard-to-port once again, now putting the conflicting ship below and behind her. She lost sight of the bogey, but at least they were headed in different directions. The Breaker Castle was now heading back into space along the path they'd just arrived on. Captain Rohs actually caught herself rocking in her seat as if the extra motion might coerce the BeeCee to move faster. Almost instantly, the cockpit was flooded with piercing blue-white light that neither the crew's hands or the automatic windshield filters could block out. Even as the missile erupted into yet another ferocious inferno, Rohs and Cately furiously worked to drive the BeeCee back to the safety of deep space.

Seconds after that, the BeeCee was buffeted by the shockwave of the blast from below them, rattling every last bit of dental work of the passengers of the BeeCee. Still, the mighty freighter held its course skyward.

Rohs now had the BeeCee in a nearly ballistic climb. Adding to the physical strain of the gee-forces of the climb was the anguish of the terrified voices on the wireless. The Captain could hear the panicked pleas from the other ships. There were so many voices, each trying to transmit at once that so much of what Rohs heard was unintelligible. Still deep in the atmosphere of Aerilon, the roar of the engines straining to push the Breaker Castle back into space combined with the cacophony from the wireless was deafening.

But right now she had more pressing worries than that of the wireless. The Breaker Castle was still in manual mode and it took all of Jahlee Rohs' survival instincts to hold the control yoke in her gut to keep the nose high attitude she needed to climb away from the onslaught.

"Will…_Help me hold her!_ We've got to get her back on autopilot!" Cately grabbed his own yoke, and now Captain and first officer both wrapped their arms around the control columns, pulling for all their worth. With Cately now adding his effort to holding the yoke back, Rohs struggled to reach the autopilot panel. Even with the fly-by-wire, power-assisted controls it took every fiber of energy that captain and first officer both could muster to hold the nose high position. As she reached for the autopilot panel, Rohs' arm waived about aimlessly, almost comically, with each shudder of the ship.

Nonetheless, she persisted until she finally managed to reach the instrument panel and pickle the "AUTOPILOT ON" button. Her fingers tapped the glass panel menu buttons, finally finding the "EMERGENCY CLIMB" mode. She tapped the panel furiously. As she did, the yoke abruptly went limp in their arms as the autopilot now took over the flight duties.

Jahlee let a sigh pass even as the sweat rolled off of her brow and into her eyes. The salty droplets caused her eyes to burn and she furiously tried to wipe them from her face with her sleeve. But the Breaker Castle was still in one piece which meant she and the other passengers were too. She glanced to her left and noticed with great relief that the deep blue of Aerilon's sky was rapidly changing to black as they gained altitude. And as the sky changed color, the noise in the cockpit abated as the ship accelerated out of the atmosphere.

In the cabin behind Rohs, Greto Park and the passengers were still reeling from the sudden acceleration and the automatic tensioning of the acceleration couch harnesses. Park could see the faces of some of the miners and young Marines in Pod Two. Only seconds ago they had been trading the excited banter of warriors and workers looking forward to some serious partying. Now those faces were terrified. Even the Marines, as stoic and hardened as warriors come, were obviously shaken.

Many of them looked to Greto Park for an answer and all he could do is shrug. Park had the benefit of having his headset on and could hear the chatter between Westling and the cockpit, but that still didn't answer the question: Why? And although _he _didn't know why, he did know they were about to spin up the FTL. A deep space veteran for fifteen years, he knew that this maneuver was absolutely an only-if-you're-in-that-much-danger option while still in the atmosphere. Something really bad was going down outside, and like his passengers, he'd have to wait until later to get the details. He could warn his passengers about the upcoming maneuver, though.

_"I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON, BUT WE'RE MAKING AN EMERGENCY FTL JUMP! HANG ON…!"_

Back in the cockpit Will Cately anxiously waited for the "FTL READY" light to come on. "_BRAD, WHERE'S THE FRAKIN' F-T-L…?" _There was no time to research jump opportunities so he scrolled through the FTL Flightlog Archive. The archive could be recalled in any of several search options, but it was now set in "LAST FTL JUMP POINTS" mode. He could scroll through the last places the BeeCee had been. He just had to find one that made the most sense in the light of current circumstances.

Cately discarded the first three or four. He knew those points were DRADIS stations along the Colonial / Cylon Demarcation line. He was already too close to trouble now. Popping out of translight next to well-patrolled Cylon space was not his idea of prudent right now.

The idea was to go somewhere _away_ from the trouble. And suddenly he recognized an option he liked…a sanctuary he knew well: Menno Seven Three.

Menno Seven Three was an outer belt mining asteroid that the BeeCee had dropped equipment off at a month ago. It was a large facility as such places went, and there were pressurized, in-ground hangar facilities that could handle the Breaker Castle. Better yet, it would only take one jump to get there.

That was it.

"_Boss, Menno Seven Three! It's one jump out and in the opposite direction of the demarcation line!"_

Rohs didn't hesitate. "Menno Seven Three it is! _GET US THE FRAK OUT OF HERE_!"

Cately hit the "jump point recall" button then keyed his intercom. "Brad! Coordinate entered! _Now get us out of here or we're comet dust!"_ Westling wished he knew what was going on, but it was obviously bad. Nonetheless, he entered the FTL commands as quick as he could force his fingers to move. What ever was going on outside, now was not the time to be second guessing the cockpit crew.

"_Jump in THREE…TWO…ONE…JUMP!…"_

As Westling said "jump", Rohs and Cately lost the view outside of the ship as the windscreen filters automatically polarized. Inside, time and light seemed to stretch into infinity. Although Jahlee knew that she was securely strapped to her seat, the nose of the Breaker Castle almost seemed to pull her into an abysmal depth and it was momentarily disorienting. In that brief moment, it was as if they were literally suspended between seconds of time. There were no sounds…no vibrations, not even the sensation of one's own heartbeat. Many frequent translight veterans described it as a sensation of existing but not existing. It was rough on the crew who expected it, but would be worse on the passengers since they had no opportunity to ready themselves for the jump. And just as well…If they had an opportunity to look outside, the missile that flew aimlessly through the spot where the BeeCee had been only a second ago might have scared them.

_Might_ have…

FOUR

The Breaker Castle dropped out of its translight vortex about 1000 kilometers off of Menno Seven Three. The rock itself was pretty non-descript, and hopefully that blandness might divert attention from it for anyone looking for Colonial outposts. That it was in the midst of a dense asteroid belt helped to mask its presence to the casual observer. If you didn't know where you were going in this mess, you'd spend a lot of time playing hunt-and-peck.

Fifty kilometers long and a little more than half that again in width, it spun lazily in an elliptical orbit around its host star, Menno Prime. That gentle spinning motion might not appear significant to the causal observer, but had anyone been here six years ago, they would have noticed the artificially imparted spin. Outer Belt Mining Industries had a whole division devoted entirely to giving these asteroids at least a weak artificial gravity for the miners. It beat the pants off of expensive energy-eating artificial systems. That meant higher profits and coincidentally no tell-tale energy trace for claim jumpers or other ill-intentioned passer's by to follow. Not that many of these facilities weren't fairly well known anyway.

Nonetheless, Breaker Castle couldn't just coast up and knock on the door. This might be a civilian facility, but these companies guarded their turf like virgin daughters. Better to call ahead first and let them know you're coming rather than catching them short tempered and trigger-happy. Most of the security contractors on these rocks were former Colonial Marines or Special Surveillance Team warriors. They liked what they did and were paid five-times over what they ever made in the military to do it. They were only too happy to be given an opportunity to validate their salaries and exercise their skills.

Cately pulled up the approach plates for the facility and dialed in the port master's calling frequency. He cleared his throat and then keyed the wireless.

"_Menno Seven Three Port Master, this is Colonial Freighter Breaker Castle, 1000 clicks out bearing one-one-one carem three-five-zero. Inbound, squawking emergency, declaring same and requesting immediate landing your facility, over…" _

Cately let his thumb off the switch and hoped these guys weren't out to lunch. Although many of these facilities kept themselves on _Caprica City Nominal Time_, they were by no means obligated to do so. This rock might be operating on Aerilonian or Saggitaron time for all they knew. Right now it was mid afternoon in Caprica City, but it was midnight in Talquin City on Picon.…Who knew what time it was here?

Gratefully, the wait was only a few seconds. Cately's pulse was still bounding from what had just happened at Aerilon and he was shaking uncontrollably. If the circumstances were any different, he might have taken the time to reflect on the fact that only seconds ago he was climbing away from the opening thrust of a nuclear attack on the Colonies and now he was almost seven light years away, hoping to hear a friendly voice. Thankfully he didn't have to wait.

"_Good afternoon, BeeCee…Menno Seven Three reads you loud and clear. DRADIS contact. What is your emergency?" _came the reply. This intrusion was unscheduled, maybe even un-welcomed, but the BeeCee was well known in these parts and if she were in trouble only a fool would bite the hand that feeds it. Menno Seven Three would at least let them refuel and stretch their legs.

Cately looked to Captain Rohs and just shrugged his shoulders. "They ain't gonna frakin' believe this, Skipper…I was there and _I_ don't believe it……"

Jahlee Rohs keyed up the wireless this time, her voice quivvering, and no doubt an octave or two higher than anyone who knew her was used to…"_Menno, BeeCee, we just made an emergency jump out of Aerilon. We're not sure what's going on ourselves, but we broke atmosphere in the middle of what appeared to be multiple nuclear strikes! Aerilon appears to be under attack. Can we please make dock?"_

There was a long pause before the reply came. For a second, they thought that perhaps Menno Control thought that this might be a prank or Colonial security drill.

_"Stand by, BeeCee…Port Master is coming to the desk…" _Rohs and Cately both could hear the change in affect of the operations technician's voice. Given the circumstances, they'd have to admit that it's not every day that you get told that someone was shooting nuclear weapons at you.

Indeed, the young specialist at the microphone was himself shocked at the report coming across the wireless. He at first thought to look around and see if perhaps someone was pranking him, but then he looked up to see he that he was not the only person in the room.

Alastair Kohn was the port master at Menno Seven Three. Not only was he an old hand on the deep space mining colonies, he'd been a Colonial Warrior at the end of the Cylon War over forty years ago. He came to Outer Belt after the war, hoping to find a life that was, well, out of the crosshairs.

Now the hairs on the back of his neck were sticking up…almost painfully so. Kohn stood silently for a moment, a look confusion on his face that the young operations technician found somehow frightening.

If the report he had just heard was correct, it could mean only one thing: The Cylons had returned, and returned with a vengeance, to finish a war that had only been put on hold…Never really resolved in the favor one way or the other for Cylon _or _Colonials.

No one had heard from the Cylons in decades. There had been some privateers who dared to cross the Colonial / Cylon demarcation line to set up bootlegging operations and smuggling bases knowing full-well that the Colonial Fleet would never cross those lines. Some of them managed to get away with it. Others had never been heard from again. For most it was better to pay Colonial taxes and tariffs than risk the unthinkable. For many others, though, the simple thrill of trying to beat the law and get away with it was worth the risks they took. Some paid for it with their lives, though, and were never heard from again.

But Kohn himself could hear the anxiousness in Captain Rohs' voice and knew this was neither a practical joke nor a surprise Colonial Fleet security drill…He'd heard that stress in a ship captain's voice many a-time before. He had hoped to never hear it again.

After a few seconds Kohn realized that the specialist was looking to him for an answer. He blushed slightly, embarrassed that he'd folded into himself like that. A slight nod in the affirmative and the specialist was granting the Breaker Castle permission to enter the port.

Kohn then reached over the specialist and picked up the yellow handled telephone that went directly to the Facility Manager's office. It was answered after only a couple rings and Kohn spoke softly into the phone. "_Boss, the Breaker Castle is making port in twenty minutes. They're declaring an emergency. Can you meet me at bay six?" _There was a brief pause and Kohn's eyes did a barrel roll. "_Yes Ma'am, I do believe it's "that" important…"_

"_Gods please save us from bean-counting bureaucrats." _The words went unspoken, but the comms specialist saw the look on Mr Kohn's face and imagined what was said in that pause.

"_Yes Ma'am…Twenty minutes…Thank-you…"_

If the port master's fears and the Breaker Castle's report of a nuclear attack on Aerilon was correct, both he and his boss may have reason to be _glad_ to be on this rock.

FIVE

Master Chief Warrant Officer Dewayne Kells was tired.

Not just that "Gee, honey, I had a rough day at the office" kind of tired, but that kind of tired that makes you wonder where all the years went and how you got to where you are and still be in one piece.

He entered the Colonial Fleet Marine Corps at the age of seventeen. He graduated Secondary School a full year early and it had been his parent's expectation that his perfect grades and excellent sports skills would carry him through academy to a professional career.

But he'd hit a wall. A big one. He'd carried perfect grades throughout secondary school. Less than 1/2 of 1 percent of his peers in _all_ of the Twelve Colonies could make that boast. And he'd earned every credit. But the demanding academic routine and the hustle of the swimming team and a half dozen other extracurricular obligations left him wanting. His parents kept telling him how he "had it all"…But if that were so, _where_ was it?

The last straw for him was the day he graduated secondary. A dozen of his best friends were all going to take a week long trip to Caprica and blow off some well deserved steam. Kells was looking forward to it too…Right up until the point where his father diverted him and herded him over to a stately looking gentleman in an expensive Taurian suit.

There would be no trip to Caprica.

The gentleman was the Headmaster of the Scientist's and Scholar's University of Virgon. The rest of the day was spent being alternatively wooed and cowed by father and Headmaster on the virtues of a five year commitment to SSUV.

Kells' first thought was to wonder what idiot put a university like SSUV on a dreary, going-no-place / do-nothing planet like Virgon. It was bad enough that it was two full jumps away from Canceron, but Virgon was the second largest food producer of the Colonies. In other words, every square inch of hospitable dirt was farmland, and for a seventeen year old, fire-spittin', ready-to-rock-the-universe kid like Dewayne Kells, well…This was too much.

Kells needed an out and the local Marine Corps recruiter was it. There was a poster on the outer office wall of several rough-and-tumble looking Marines along with a tag line of "_Can YOU Walk the Walk?_" across the bottom. A challenge like that couldn't be allowed to go unanswered. _Of course he could!_

Kells walked into the office and the young Staff Sergeant seated at the desk started to rise and offered his hand. "Staff Sergeant Johan Weyhs…I'm the…"

Kells cut him off. "If I sign up right now, how long until I could be shipped outta here…?" His impatience was almost palpable but the Marine could see he was sincere.

Still, the young recruiter was a bit stunned. In four years at this station he'd never had anyone walk in and be so anxious to get under way! There had to be a catch…This youngster probably just held up a bank or was wanted by the police for something.

"You'll have to undergo the aptitude battery, medical and background checks…You know we have to make sure you're not wanted by Judiciary, but if you have a clear background you could be gone in a week…"

Kells' brief moment of "get me the frak outta here" bravado suddenly cooled, yet he couldn't believe that it would take that long to do all of that. He showed the recruiter his "Affirmed Citizen" ID card and put it on the table. Most kids waited until a good month or more after graduating to get their card since once you did you were eligible for all sorts of new surprises, like jury duty, paying taxes, and conscription into the Colonial Home Guard Forces…No…If he was going to serve in a uniform, he wanted something _away_ from home and _away_ from "life as usual".

The Scientists and Scholars University would still be there in five years.

"Look, " Kells said, "…I graduated yesterday and already my dad's got me dancing for Academy program directors. I need to do something exciting! I need to do something daring! I need to _GET OFF THIS ROCK_!"

Staff Sergeant Weyhs had to snicker. _"This kid is me ten years ago!_" he thought to himself.

"What are you wanted for?" he asked jokingly.

"Nothing…I've never even had a parking ticket!" came the quick and _almost_ honest reply. There _was_ the one time he and some buddies had snuck out for a night of revelry in a not-so-legally-obtained hovercraft. Of course they never got caught, so "not caught" was the same as "never happened"! Wasn't it?

"OK..OK! It's early. Maybe we can get you on the afternoon shuttle. Sit down!"

That was twenty-seven years ago and Kells still remembered the smell of the office, the music on the wireless, and the sunlight as it set over the western ridges. Weyhs put one piece of paper after another in front of him. Each was filled out, answered, examined and returned almost as quickly as they appeared. An aptitude and skills test was done on the computer. Weyhs almost dropped his lunch when the scores maxed-out in each and every category.

"Kid, _WHY IN THE FRAK_ do you want to _enlist_…? Scores like these will put you in ANY of the Forces academies in a heartbeat!" You'll be _my_ O-I-C before I see my next promotion!"

Kells thought about that for a second and then he remembered why it was he was here in the first place. Getting _away_ from five more years with his nose in a book was the whole idea! He wanted to _go _somewhere, and go _TODAY_!

"Thanks, Sarge, but I'm looking to get dirty for a while! I need this. School will wait!"

And wait it did. First there was Colonial Forces basic training on Picon. Eight weeks of sweating, screaming, storming, leaping, climbing, studying, polishing, saluting, hiking, and marching hell that he had _no_ idea he was getting himself into. He'd come so close to exercising his OptOut prerogative, but no one, and he meant _no one_ in the Kells family had ever quit anything and he'd be damned if he'd be the first one no matter _how_ bad he hurt. Especially after the ass-chewing he got on an unanticipated video phone call from his father who had finally tracked down his wayward son.

He had to give his dad credit, though…He only threatened to come to Picon and break his neck twice in that conversation.

It could have been worse.

His _mother_ could have called!

After basic training Kells found himself headed for Tauron. Every Colonial Warrior went through the same basic training which he just finished. Now the HARD part started: Colonial Forces Marine Corps Individual Readiness Training.

And Tauron was a most appropriate place to hold some of the hardest training in the fleet. It was a desolate place. It was a place of grays and browns, stifling heat and frigid cold. Those few temperate zones of the planet that were suited for farming or agriculture were few and far between, and in any case, off-worlders were shunned in those places. The Taurans were nothing if not territorial. Even those few who dared to practice what might otherwise be considered 'law enforcement' on the other colonies would shrug and dismiss any injustice that might be inflicted on an off-worlder, no matter how evident that they'd been legitimately wronged. That the Taurans allowed the CFMC to operate its training bases here was one of the few concessions it made in exchange for defense and certain trade perks, and even then, it was well known that anyone who strayed away from the bases or the towns immediately adjacent to them were in for a rough time.

And "Individual" was a bit of a misnomer, too, he discovered. He was in a training regiment of 200 other would-be Marines, and there were no guarantees that the end of this next twelve weeks would end with his being appointed to the elite force. Kells, however, discovered something unique here. He discovered himself. There wasn't a task he didn't accomplish, a test he didn't ace or an officer he didn't impress. He attacked every task with a flourish and gave every effort his 110% best. Even the enlisted instructors and trainers had to acknowledge the kid's talent. This youngster would make a name for himself in this Man's Marine Corps, that was for sure.

And it wasn't that Kells was "that" smart or "that" skilled. It was just that he decided to _be_ "that" good, and that was all there was to it.

On day seven of week twelve, (an off-the-cuff salute to the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, he occasionally wondered, or just the way things worked out?) _Lance Corporal_ Dewayne Kells stood at attention with sixty other newly minted Marines as his name was called as Colonial Fleet Marine Force Trainee Honor Graduate.

Now the fun stuff began.

SIX

Master Chief Warrant Officer Kells, or "Gunner" as Warrant Officers were casually addressed, wasn't used to being thrown around by invisible, unseen hands, but these were obviously _big _hands and they had pretty much got the best of him. In his twenty-seven years in the Corps, he'd made scores of planetary descents but none of them like the ride he was getting in Pod Two of the Breaker Castle today. Damned civilians anyway. Had this not been the only available ship going to Aerilon for three more weeks he wouldn't have boarded. And right now, time was of the essence.

The news of his father's death had hit him squarely between the eyes. Afterall, his father was only 115, and as far as anyone knew, in excellent health. To be taken so young was tragic, especially when one considered all of the occasions he'd had in is life to actually _get_ killed! But in addition to being his father, he was a Hero of the Colonial Forces, having been awarded the Kobol Cross. The dignitary list at his funeral was short but impressive, and he wouldn't miss this for anything. Even the press would be in attendance. Yet what ever had possessed his father to retire to Aerilon was still beyond him. It's few metropolises notwithstanding, it was an agrarian reserve.

As they were being bounced around the cabin, Kells found it ironic that he was in the window seat row, but there were no windows in this freighter. Especially when something very bad just happened and he couldn't see what it was. Maybe that was just as well.

The ride down to Aerilon had been pretty smooth right up until the time he and his fellow passengers were unceremoniously slammed back into their acceleration couches. The ride down hadn't generated more than two, maybe three gees of force. Now there were at least six gees sitting on his chest, and he didn't like it one bit. He knew that there were going to be some marks left, and they would require no small amount of salve to mitigate.

If there was any consolation to the event, it was that all of those gees worked to help keep his lunch where it belonged: In his stomach! He had good reason to believe that once the acceleration abated, he might have some cleaning up to do.

Like the other troops in the passenger pod, Kells looked to the loadmaster for some clue as to what was going on. He and Loadmaster Greto Park had had a few chances to socialize a bit on this trip and Kells was impressed with the man. He was the epitome of a professional in his environment, cool under what few strained moments they'd had enroute and _one helluva damned good card player!_ More than a few of his cubits were in Greto's pocket right now. And if there was one thing he'd _not_ seen in the Breaker Castle's loadmaster, it was uncertainty.

Until now, that was.

_"I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON, BUT WE'RE MAKING AN EMERGENCY FTL JUMP! HANG ON…!"_

As their eyes met for a brief second, Kells instinctively knew that what ever combination of forces were just thrown at him, pushing him back into his seat, there was trouble…_BIG trouble_…on the other end.

The warning had barely passed Park's lips when the cabin lights dimmed and the Breaker Castle entered the translight vortex. Kells loved space travel, but the jump always made him ill. The effect was overwhelming, even to those prepared for it.

Then, as if it had never happened, the Breaker Castle seemingly came to a dead stop. Gone were the sounds of air rushing over the fuselage or the strain of the sublight engines as they made good their escape. Now in the vacuum of space, the roar of the engines was gone and all that was left of the violence that had thrown them into their seats was the familiar tug of artificial gravity on their feet and the muffled moans of a few of the passengers who hadn't cinched up their belts like they were supposed to.

Kells looked around the cabin. Although he was traveling on personal business, he was still the senior Colonial Forces officer on board. For that matter, he was the _only_ Colonial Forces officer on board. As such he would be responsible for organizing the military personnel if the ship was in trouble. Still, it took him a moment to shake off his own disorientation from the jump. Translight travel often left him nauseated, and this time was no exception, especially since it came almost unannounced. He finally released his five-point harness and stood, albeit shakily. He made a quick visual sweep around the cabin to check on the condition of the troops and how they'd fared after the sudden FTL jump. He'd need to organize the fleet personnel, and that meant some on-the-fly evaluations. Time to go back to work…Guess the funeral will have to wait.

If Dewayne Kells had stopped and thought about it for a second he would have realized that he had already begun that process. The moment he got on board the Breaker Castle at DRADIS Station Thirty Four, he had started counting heads and "sizing up" those who wore the Colonial Forces uniform. He glanced across the seats to the contingent of Marines that had boarded from the Battlestar Galactica and were all sitting together.

"_READY UP!"_ Kells called out loud. To his relief, each of the Marines gave him a thumbs up, albeit some slower than others.

A head check on the Fleet troops would be a bit more time consuming. They were scattered around the cabin, interspersed with the civilian miners that were aboard the BeeCee. Kells released his seat harness and began to take inventory of the fleet personnel throughout the cabin.

As he began to move about the cabin, Kells remembered his arrival aboard the BeeCee only three days ago. For a while, he thought he was doomed to be the butt of jokes of the 11 deckhands from the Battlestar Oreyus. Senior among the fleet enlisted personnel was Senior Chief Petty Officer Alyssya Teague. Teague was a professional through-and-through. She had told Kells that she'd been married three times; twice at the altar and once to the Fleet. The one to the Fleet seemed to be the only 'marriage' that hadn't broken her heart or slept with a friend, so this one was a keeper. Maybe in her mid thirties, she had progressed rapidly through the ranks putting herself second to the service. Maybe that was why there were two "ex's" on as many planets.

In any case, she was quick with a joke and doubly quick in a card game. Yet no one, and that meant _no one,_ called her "Honey", "Babe", or some other endearing, gender-specific nickname. Only a few hours after Kells boarded the Breaker Castle, one of the swabbies did exactly that. Before the offending utterances could echo off the bulkheads, Teague had pinned the offender against the same bulkhead and "politely" reminded him that she was "Senior Chief", "Senior Chief Petty Officer", or "Ma'am". The next offense would reward the person uttering it with a trip to sickbay and a need for medical leave. At which time she further pointed out that they were NOT on a warship, there was no sickbay for 10 light years in any direction, and she'd be damned if a kick in the right spot was going to earn anyone free medical leave!

Military protocol had always had a tradition of segregating "friends" from "duty" but the realities of life made that line a hard one to hold. It was against human nature to not want to bond with those with whom you spent most of your waking hours. Senior Chief Teague had managed to hold that line, and with some style to boot. Kells was impressed.

He was also grateful that she was "one of ours".

SEVEN

If anyone ever really "got used" to anything on an asteroid mining camp it was the sounds. After all, you were inside a large rock, usually an iron laden one. You could set off a nuke only 100 yards outside and you wouldn't hear a thing. Yet drop a hammer on the cargo rails inside the asteroid and the sound would travel a long way.

Now, take a door 50 meters on each side that has tons of pressurized air behind it and start moving it, and people were going to know something was going on, even at the farthest ends of the asteroid. So it was on Menno Seven Three. The working tunnels were 20 kilometers long in each direction along the long axis of the rock, yet when the Bay 6 doors began to depressurize to admit the Breaker Castle, everyone knew someone was coming to visit. Ships coming and going were always an event on so desolate a station as Menno Seven Three, so it didn't take long for the rumors to fly when a ship arrived un-announced.

And begin to fly, they did. But the muffled whispers stopped briefly when the overhead Public Address system rang its familiar "Stand By For An Announcement" chimes.

"Emergency Medical Team and Longshoreman Teams to Docking Bay 6. Emergency landing protocol. Emergency Medical Team and Longshoreman Teams to Docking Bay 6, emergency landing protocol."

The computer generated female voice was devoid of any emotion or expression of anxiety which was probably why the company used the things. But it was indication enough that something out of the ordinary was going on and that a ship was making an emergency landing at Menno Seven Three. That, in-and-of-itself was unique, considering that Menno was considered to be in "the armpit of Colonial territorial space". What was anyone doing out here anyway that wasn't coming here in the first place?

On board the Breaker Castle, Captain Jahlee Rohs was relieved at the assignment of Docking Bay 6. The other bays could handle the ship just fine, but it was always a tight fit, even when the computers did all the duties. Bay 6 was almost half-again as wide as the Breaker Castle would need.

In the 20 minutes since they came out of the emergency FTL jump, Captain Rohs finally had the time to take in all that had happened. The first thing she noticed was how badly her hands were hurting. She at first wondered why they hurt so bad, until she realized that she was shaking uncontrollably. Nonetheless, she read off the docking checklist with First Officer Will Cately and prepared to park the BeeCee. She kept looking straight ahead or at her checklist, afraid that if she looked over at her First Officer that she would see him looking at her like this.

Had she taken the time to look she would have seen Cately's hands shaking just as badly as hers.

Back in Pod 2, the passengers were almost as shaken but for entirely different reasons.

In the first minutes after the emergency FTL jump, it had been almost like a funeral temple in the Pod. But as the disorientation and initial shock wore off, the Colonial Fleet personnel and miners were calling out to each other, making sure friends and colleagues were in once piece, and asking the inevitable "_what the frak just happened_" questions.

Meanwhile, Gunner Kells continued his check on the status of the troops in the environment pod. He made his way around the pod and laid eyes on each and every one of the enlisted troops. Each of them had given him the same thumbs-up that he'd gotten from the Marines except for a pair in the middle aft seats. The blood on their foreheads on their mutual side told the story. They'd been thrown together in the melee and the head injuries knocked them out. Kells reached across the seats placing his fingers along the midline of their throats. Relieved at finding both of them still breathing, Kells turned to the front of the cabin.

"_MEDIC UP_! he called. Instantly, from the corner of his eye Kells could see the Marine's medic grab a small bag from under his seat. Still shaking off his own disorientation and obviously a bit shaky on his own feet, the corpsman quickly joined the Gunner and was just as quickly tending to the wounded warriors. He quickly placed his fingers on each of the wounded warrior's throats as the Gunner had, but went the extra step of quickly taking a listen to each man's chest with a stethoscope. After a few seconds on each, he gave the Gunner a thumb's up. "I've got 'em, Sir…I'll take care of 'em…" he said.

Kells nodded in acknowledgement then turned and moved back to the front of the cabin and joined up on Greto Park. He then caught the eye of Senior Chief Petty Officer Teague and the lead miner and waved to both of them to join them.

"What's the story, Greto? Too many parking fines on Aerilon?" Kells knew that there was bad news to be told.

The Loadmaster wasn't sure what he should say. Afterall, he didn't know much more than they did. "Gunner, I'm almost as in the dark as you are. All I know is that there was some kind of explosions at Spaceport City and the Skipper F-T-L'ed us out of the middle of it. We're about to land at a mining rock called Menno Seven Three. Now you know as much as I do…Sorry…"

All Alyssya Teague could do was close her eyes and drop her head. Diverting away from Aerilon so abruptly was bad enough. But of all the places to find for an emergency landing, Menno Seven Three was _not_ where she wanted to be. First of all, she had a dinner date waiting for her on Aerilon. She'd already stood the same guy up twice due to Fleet duties. Three times would be the nail in _that_ coffin, she was sure. She had been looking forward to a meal that didn't involve standing in line with 100 other people who were all dressed alike.

Secondly, if memory served, former spouse number one was the lead miner for this facility and she was not looking forward to a reunion any time soon. Could this get _any_ uglier?

The BeeCee's intercom came on and Captain Rohs' voice was shaken. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for the abrupt maneuvering and the unannounced F-T-L jump away from Aerilon. We're making an emergency landing on mining asteroid Menno Seven Three. I don't want to keep you out of the loop, however I'll debrief you as soon as we make port and we can off-load. I'll ask the passengers to please follow the Loadmaster's instructions and stay close to the ship after we get off. I'll brief all of you then…"

It wasn't an explanation, but at least it was a start.

As she finished the announcement, Captain Rohs made the last inputs to the BeeCee's flight computer. The ship slid gracefully into "the slot", her nose aimed at the still-moving hangar doors. At the same time, she initiated a slow roll to match the movement of the asteroid. Within a few seconds, she matched the roll rate, and the movement between the doors and the nose of the BeeCee seemingly came to a stop.

Rohs toggled the wireless transmit button. "_Menno, BeeCee, you have the helm_." The words were no sooner spoken than a light over the Bay 6 door swapped from red to green, and Rohs could feel the BeeCee's maneuvering thrusters begin to automatically adjust the ship's position as Menno's docking computer took control. She watched as the nose of the ship slid majestically past the outer doors and then ease into the framework of the docking trestle.

It was un-nerving to have her ship in someone else's control, let alone someone else's computer. But right now she was more than willing to get her hands off the stick. She was still shaking terribly and the tremors in her hands were translating into unwanted thruster inputs to the BeeCee's maneuvering engines. They'd already had a rough-enough ride…They didn't need pilot induced turbulence right now.

"On the landing gear, check wheels up, select skids, then cycle gear down," she called to Cately. Cately called back the order then cycled the landing gear handle down. They could hear the whirring of the servos as the ship's gear doors opened and the landing gear lowered. As the BeeCee slid into the bay, the floor of the bay slowly came up until the skids of the ship contacted the landing deck and the deck then leveled the ship's airlock at the main platform level.

"All stop." Rohs called out the order to shut down the engines and thrusters and Will Cately echoed the order back to her as he pulled the engine controls to the 'cut-off' detent. As she felt the vibration of the engines subside, she finally allowed herself the momentary privilege of slumping in her seat. If she was embarrassed to allow Will Cately to see her shaking before, she was now more embarrassed to let him see her ready to start sobbing…But now was not the time.

EIGHT

Alastair Kohn stood just beyond the pressure door to Docking Bay 6. Behind him he heard the elevator come to a halt and the door slide open to allow it's sole passenger, Samantha O'byea to disembark.

O'byea was the Facility Administrator for Menno Seven Three. Anyone else might have considered a posting to one of the more productive and respected camps as a step up, but O'byea was anything but happy with her current circumstances.

Mind you, it wasn't as if she had to spend 24/7 on the rock, nor actually be doing anything while she was here, but it was the simple fact that she had to be here at all that left her feeling spiteful. Afterall, when you're the center of attention in the corporate world of Aerilon and Caprica both, having to cool your heels out here, even occasionally, was almost a death sentence.

O'byea's parents had been prisoners of the Cylons in The War and that had translated into a nearly prison-like childhood for her. It had not been their intent, of course, but they kept all three of their children close aboard. With little opportunity to roam or learn beyond their agrarian life on Saggitaron, O'byea and her siblings felt captive. Add to this the fundamentalist belief of her parents, and Samantha O'byea had been as close to being a nun as any woman could get short of actually joining a convent.

That all ended shortly after Secondary School. O'byea had done well in school and a scholarship to Academy was hers. Having never been off of Saggitaron, though, she had no idea of what she might want to do or what, if anything, there actually was to do beyond the fields of home.

Her first excursion off her homeworld was to Caprica as part of an academic scouting tour. It was enthralling. Although she'd seen star freighters come-and-go and she knew of worlds beyond hers, she'd never stood at the base of a building more than three stories tall. Caprica City was everything her home wasn't. It was a stunning jewel. It was a gleaming, shimmering, pulsating world that teased her every sense. Even the smells of the shops along the streets overwhelmed her. The city itself seemed ready to swallow her whole.

And after her first night in Caprica City, she was _ready_ to be swallowed by this living entity. Then and there she knew she'd never touch foot on Saggitaron again.

The academy scouting tour lasted a week, but it only took her two days to discover that behind all of the lights, the glitter and the glamour was one common thread…The heartbeat of the business world. Before the week was out, O'byea found a home at Caprica University for Business and Economics.

Five years at C.U.B.E. passed quickly, and O'byea found herself being courted by some of the most elite among Caprican and Aerilonian businesses. Her talent for being able to find the weaknesses in faltering enterprises, even while still an apprentice, had made the rounds of the professional headhunters. Even as an academy student she was making a name for herself in business circles, and that was all right by her.

One thing that O'byea had never counted on, nor had she really exploited, was her latent sultry looks. Tall, slender, with shoulder length sandy-blonde hair, there was a below-the-threshold tension that every man (and even a few women) felt in her presence. She had never given her femaleness any thought, though. She had always been uncomfortable in social situations, her sequestered upbringing having all-but-eliminated any social interaction outside of her family. It wasn't until a bit of semi-drunken playing and a dare not easily rebuffed that she allowed her roomie to "re-make" her one rainy afternoon. After three hours of sudsing, coloring, clipping and cropping, combined with almost incessant nipping on a bottle of Ambrosia, Samantha O'byea found out that there was, indeed, a woman under all of that frumpiness.

The results were nothing if not phenomenal. The previously "clean" but un-stylized 20-something from fundamentalist Saggitarian parents had broken out of the mold.

She was gorgeous.

That very same night, she and her roomie had decided to try out 'the look' on the Caprican nightclub scene. What happened that night scared Samantha witless.

Men she'd only dared glance at before and who never gave her a second look were now trying to hit on her. The advances, while exciting on one hand, were more than she knew how to manage on the other. She was at once excited, then terrified. Curious, then fearful. The confusion was overwhelming. If she were a computer, she was sure she'd 'crash' from the sensory overload.

Did these guys not recognize her?

Was the change _that _dramatic…?

More than one pair of hands found their way on to her person that night and it scared her. She was no longer in charge of her comfortable world. That she did indeed attract men after all answered some long suppressed doubts of her own as to her place in life, but the loss of control of her environment was, in itself, unnerving.

Whatever "greater woman" was under the frumpy veneer would have to wait. Once she had her career under control, she could let that daggit out to run, but not now. O'byea quickly found her way to the door and made a beeline for the dormitory. In an hour, she'd shaken off the 'new' Samantha for the one she'd grown used to. The prom queen Samantha would have to wait.

And wait she did. It wasn't until her senior year that O'byea again allowed herself to explore her 'other self', much to the consternation of more than one would-be suitor.

That was when she met Roland Yannero.

Their meeting at a Caprica City coffee shop was almost like a scene from a love story, and in reflection years later, she was sure it had been arranged that way. He was tall, handsome, and had a 'made-for-you' smile that had professional models and movie starlets alike squirming in their seats. That he was casting his eye towards Samantha O'byea left her feeling like the leading lady in her ownpersonal movie. Her previous foray into her own more feminine side notwithstanding, she was still very much insecure when it came to her place in matters of the heart, and that this Adonis of a man was casting his attentions to her only made her more unsure of herself.

Yannero was a professional recruiter for OBMI. That was no secret. As far as O'byea knew it was "just a job" and was inconsequential to her relationship with him.

But for Yannero, his "job" _was_ Samantha O'byea…and making sure that Samantha O'byea signed on with OBMI at the earliest opportunity.

OBMI was a multi-world conglomerate. It got that way by cherry-picking the best and the brightest from all of the academies and technical schools of the Twelve Worlds. OBMI's head-hunters knew a good thing when they saw it, and they wanted Samantha on their staff, not the competition's.

Yannero considered himself doubly blessed. Not only did he stand to make a nice bonus if he snatched O'byea from the competition, but she wasn't hard to look at, either. And this time he chose to not just _recruit_, but to _romance_ the prospect! What greater trophy for a salesman than to have the 'mark' believe that they had _sold themselves_ on something rather than succumbed to the salesman's pitch? And so comely a trophy, at that!

An impressionable beauty straight out of academy would be more challenging if he managed to make her think that it was a matter of romance that she choose _his_ employer, not the competition.

If there was one thing Roland Yannero did not have to work hard at, that was convincing beautiful young women that their futures were safe in his hands. And it wasn't long until Roland Yannero had Samantha O'byea deciding to surrender herself to this tall vision of manhood.

Their first two dates were very exciting for Samantha, but platonic nonetheless. Roland opened doors for Samantha that she never knew existed, both real and virtual. The nightlife, the glitter, the electric rhythm of the dance floor resonated through her. With each moment in his arms, O'byea was drawn ever deeper into the tender trap that Yannero had set for her. Yet despite numerous opportunities for the exchange of intimacies, Roland was ever the gentleman. Even though she had made it obvious that a goodnight kiss would not be unwelcomed, Yannero maintained his Chivalrous demeanor. And in a frustrating but exciting way, that had made Samantha feel all-the-more willing to surrender to him.

The third date, however, would not be so reserved. O'byea had decided that there would be no such restraint on their next outing, and Yannero, like it or not, was going to pleasure her! On the very next date, Yannero was shocked when Samantha opened the door. She met the recruiter with a smile, high heels, an apron, and little else. The passion from the front door of O'byea's small college apartment to the bedroom was so intense that the neighbors were banging on the walls, demanding some restraint. Perhaps if Yannero had known that this was not only the first time that she'd ever kissed a man other than her father or brother, let alone surrendered to him, he might have taken a bit more time to relish the moment…Or maybe not. The point was moot since Samantha had made up his mind for him!

In the weeks that followed, Yannero had broached the subject of O'byea's upcoming graduation. He "casually" asked her on several occasions if she'd made any plans on employment afterwards. When she indicated that she had not, he offered to "look into any opportunities" at his own OBMI. Not surprisingly, shortly thereafter, Roland Yannero had Samantha O'byea in the offices of OBMI speaking to another recruiter. Of course, Roland had graciously "excused" himself from the process, at least in her presence. He'd get his percentage to be sure.

But even after O'byea had signed on with OBMI, Yannero had found it hard to break the news to his latest acquisition that he had to move on. As a matter of fact, he wasn't so sure he _wanted_ to. He'd made one misjudgement in this whole situation, and that was that he'd fallen for this red headed fireball.

O'byea was initially given a position in the home office "cooking the books" for several less-than-productive operations. Her unique talent was in turning unprofitable operations into profitable ones, and she was good at it. Maybe it wasn't the glamorous vision that she had of the corporate world, but she did have a tenth story corner office in Caprica City and a seat at the "big table" upstairs. She knew this was just the first step on working her way around that table and that was alright with her.

At first it wasn't too difficult for Yannero to keep his professional side and his personal side apart. Afterall, when he met Samantha she knew he was constantly on the road for work so it wasn't that much more of a stretch to keep up the every other week romance. They managed to keep the affair going for almost two years and it probably would have kept on going had it not been for a conversation that Samantha had the misfortune of over-hearing in the washroom one afternoon while Roland was off-world.

His return on the following week would be…well…a challenge.

She hadn't planned on "it" happening there, but they were in the middle of the lobby of OBMI's corporate offices when "_the argument_" broke out.

Samantha O'byea felt used and betrayed. But after the initial hurt of finding out how she'd been taken in, she set about setting a trap of her own. It started out innocently enough, with casual conversation…or so Yannero thought. "Honey, you'll never believe what I heard…" started O'byea, but the 'casual' exchange soon blew up into a domestic free-for-all, and everyone with an inner-loop office on the first four floors of the OBMI home office had a ringside seat.

When the Ethics Division got ahold of the incident they had to do something. It wasn't unheard of for office romances to go sour, however one that had started as the result of an "assignment" by the corporation was embarrassing and potentially expensive.

Yannero soon found himself reassigned. But after the verbal berating that he took from Samantha in the middle of the home office lobby, he was actually relieved to wind up assigned off-world. The looks and sneers from everyone in the office were almost intolerable.

And O'byea?….Now THAT would be a problem. Afterall, if she pushed the right buttons and talked to the right people this could result in a tremendous suit against the company. A brief round of talks and the consensus was that Ms. O'byea was deserving of a significant increase in salary and a responsible managerial assignment to go with it.

That it happened to be on Menno Seven Three, thus putting the whole situation out-of-sight, was all the more palatable to the upstairs management and legal folks.

Not that all of that mattered right now to Ms. O'byea.

Right now the only thing she wanted to know why this space freighter was making an emergency landing at _her _camp.

NINE

Jahlee Rohs and Will Cately were the last ones off of the Breaker Castle. Brad Westling, Greto Park and the civilian passengers were milling around the main passenger hatch while the medical team from Menno Seven Three and the Marine Detachment's corpsman were loading the two injured deckhands to the emergency trolley.

Dewayne Kells had assembled the Colonial Fleet personnel in a formation a few feet

away. Rohs knew that this situation was going to be a bit easier to get through knowing that she had professional warriors aboard, even if it were no more than a platoon's worth of them. She'd take a handful of Marines against any whole division of Home Guard warriors any day.

The Captain caught Kells' eye and waved him over towards her as she did the mining foreman that was with the civilian passengers. They strode over towards the airlock hatch just as the door began to swing open. There was a slight swish of air as the pressure equalized. Through the hatch stepped Alastair Kohn and Samantha O'byea.

"I'm Samantha O'byea, Facility Manager of Menno Seven Three." The tall, voluptuous blonde was a stark contrast to the diminutive Captain Rohs. Rohs held out her hand nonetheless, grateful for the opportunity to park the BeeCee. "What's the emergency, Captain?"

Rohs could see past her host and could see that the question had gotten the attention of the BeeCee's passengers who were all now looking their way and straining to hear the conversation. Perhaps blurting out the circumstances of their arrival at Menno Seven Three wasn't appropriate right there on the flight deck. Anyway, she didn't know where to start. "Ma'am, I think it better that we step into your office if we can. I have some video here you'll want to see…"

O'byea was initially a bit annoyed at being put off, but it was apparent from the captain's demeanor that she was distressed. Rohs was still trembling, pale, and was drenched in perspiration. Although she'd never met the freighter captain before, O'byea got the sense that Jahlee Rohs was, like her, a professional, and one that was not easily shaken. And as such, perhaps some leeway was warranted. O'byea nodded and held her hands towards the elevator. "After you, Captain…"

As they stepped into the elevator, each of the occupants exchanged brief hand shakes and hellos, but the ride to the offices above the hangar deck was otherwise quiet and tense. The Captain's eyes and those of Alastair Kohn and Samantha O'byea met, and each time acknowledged with a slight nod and sheepish smile. The Captain was grateful when the elevator finally arrived and the door opened to discharge its riders. Samantha O'byea led the way and escorted the small entourage into the administrative office. She bid them all to take a seat around the ample meeting desk, then directed her attention to Rohs.

"Well, Captain…What's all the mystery about?" O'byea was more than a bit anxious now.

Captain Rohs handed her a disk and asked her to load it to her office projector screen. She did, and a few seconds later the screen came alive with the video of the Breaker Castle's forward approach cameras. The video apparently started from just before the BeeCee's first F-T-L jump of the day, the one that took her to Point Daggit.

"This is the approach video from the ship's cameras. The first frames are from our translight arrival at Aerilon." Rohs aimed the remote control at the projector and hit fast forward. "As you can see, we had an otherwise normal trans-atmosphere approach to Spaceport City, but as we cleared blackout, this was what we encountered…"

A ship that Rohs had not previously seen could now be seen dropping an object ahead of the Breaker Castle. She froze the frame and zoomed in on the target ten-fold. The distinctive shape of a Cylon Heavy Raider filled the frame. The room became deathly silent.

As she backed the picture out to regular view a few frames at a time, a nearly shapeless speck fell from the belly of the Raider. But as the frame fell back to normal size, Spaceport City was clearly visible in the distance. The speck nearly disappeared into the pixels of the city, only to abruptly fill the screen with the most brilliant white light.

Across the bottom of the camera footage the edge markers that displayed altitude, speed and other factors suddenly turned red and the words "RADIATION WARNING" flashed across the scrolling numbers.

The abrupt jinking of the ship to port brought a second ship, the first one Rohs had actually seen directly, into the frame. Another Raider could be seen dropping an object onto the Colonial Forces base west of Spaceport City and once more the Breaker Castle could be seen jinking to port, now heading away from the billowing white plumes of death behind.

The Breaker Castle was now headed almost vertically. More of the invading ships appeared on the video that Rohs hadn't seen during the earlier confusion, and now that she saw them on video, she was glad she hadn't seen them in "real time" because the Cylon ships passed directly below the BeeCee's bow. How she'd missed them the first time, she didn't know, but she was sure glad they had.

Seconds passed and the ship was now almost into space when the ship went translight again, this time arriving just beyond Menno Seven Three.

"I don't know what to say, except that I believe the Cylons have returned and, for what ever reason, attacked Aerilon…" Rohs' voice trailed off, there being no other words she could find right then.

O'byea, Kohn, Kells and Rohs' crew could only stare in disbelief. The video trailed on as the BeeCee approached Menno Seven Three. Alistair Kohn took the remote from Captain Rohs' hand and re-wound the video to the point just before coming out of blackout then let it advance. He too zoomed in on the distant ship and froze the frame on the sight.

Rohs was one hundred percent correct.

Aerilon had been attacked by the Cylons.

His mind was suddenly awash with a hundred questions: Was this a localized attack, or part of a wider front, he wondered? Why would the Cylons launch so massive an attack? Was this an offensive, or a retaliation for some political or territorial transgression?

"Captain.." Kohn took a deep breath…"Wasn't there any warning? Certainly an attack force of that size _must_ have been seen on DRADIS.."

Cately could see that his boss was lost for words and filled in the blanks. "When we first called approach they told us they had some debris they were tracking behind us but thought it was only some trash following our energy wake. When we came out of blackout the attack was in progress. Approach waved us off and then all hell broke loose. We never heard another word from the surface…"

There was a long pause as everyone in the room took a minute to absorb the information they'd just heard and seen. "So what do we do from here?" O'byea's voice was suddenly frail and uncertain.

Gunner Kells took a deep breath. "Ma'am, I think we need to take inventory of our resources here. If this truly is a system-wide attack it may be a long time before we could expect any resupply. We also need to set a security watch."

Greto Park was nodding along with Kells' assessment. "We have two food Pods on the BeeCee. One is carrying Picon beef to Aerilon in a refrigerator unit and dried stuffs and canned goods in the other. We have enough food on board the BeeCee to keep all of the ship's passengers and some of Menno's staff fed for at least a couple of months. The other two Pods are passenger berths and can either be left on the BeeCee or slid out into whatever space here as living quarters for the passengers. The crew has staterooms on board…"

Alastair Kohn was a bit more reserved and thoughtful. He'd been up against the Cylons one-on-one before, and it was not a situation he wanted to be in again. "Gunner, what about a recon to Aerilon?"

"Captain Rohs just plucked our collective asses out of the fire once today, Mr Kohn…I'm not predisposed to asking her to do it twice. The Cylons will be looking for any stragglers. Let's not give them any. Also, I would suggest that the facility here go silent on the wireless. No doubt that Menno Seven Three is fairly well known in Colonial circles, but let's not advertise our presence any more than we need to."

Kohn was a bit taken aback by the Marine's bluntness but he was right. Now was the time to put things in order and make a plan.

And Plan One today would be to survive.

TEN

The rumors began to fly yet again when the public address system sounded its familiar chimes once more and an "emergency assembly" was called to the facility auditorium. Few were the times that work was stopped on these outposts. Rarely was it for good news.

Within thirty minutes there was a steady flow of people at the auditorium doors. It only took a few minutes to fill most of the seats and before long whispers in the room overcame the ambient hum of the asteroid's environmental equipment.

As Gunner Kells entered the auditorium he was a bit shocked to see the number of people that were in the seats. He knew that the asteroid was a large facility, but even at that he didn't expect to see this many people. His mind drifted for a moment as he looked around the room. Then suddenly he was taken aback by a deep, baritone voice that sent him reeling to a day he'd almost forgotten.

"_DEWAYNE KELLS_! As I live and breathe! I shudda known that any bad news arriving here was being delivered by you!"

The Marine spun around to come face-to-face with his biggest nightmare…and his biggest relief…"_Sven Robbins_…What the _frak_ are _you _doing on this rock..?" The Marine was shocked at the sudden finding of an old friend. But that shock quickly turned to elation. At least _something _good had come out of this day.

Sven Robbins stood just under two meters tall. Full locks of reddish-blonde-but-graying hair fell over his forehead but he still sported a military-regulation haircut. His shoulders were as wide as the dams above Meholan Village on Caprica and his arms were like massive hydraulic servos. His forty-plus years were discernable around his eyes and in the graying hair, but this tank of a human being was still in a shape that men half his age envied. Twenty years as a Special Surveillance Team operator had meant staying in shape. Five more years as a corporate "security specialist" hadn't taken any of the edge off. If anything, he looked younger than the last time Kells had seen him.

Kells and Robbins had served together on the Starcruiser Calonian Star. The cruiser had stopped at an inhabited asteroid called Harlow's World. Harlow's World was odd for a body as small as it was in that it not only had an atmosphere and was in a stable orbit around its host star, Corvina 3-Epsilon. And unlike the other planets in the system, it was independent of the political system of the Colonial worlds.

Harlow's World was neutral territory for _all _of the Twelve Colonies. For if the truth be known, most of the ugliest battles fought inside the Perimeter of the Twelve Worlds of Kobol were not the ones fought with the Cylons, but rather between some of the Twelve Colonies themselves, and sometimes within themselves too.

But that had been generations ago. The Cylon War had solidified the colonies into a more-or-less homogenous political entity, a few skirmishes here and there notwithstanding. Harlow's World had since traded its place in the Colonies as a neutral internal political bickering ground for the less harrowing but far more lucrative position as a tariff-free trade zone and liberty port for the scores of Battlestars and other warships of the Colonial Fleet. It's shops, casinos, bars and other less reputable places of recreation had become a second home to many of the Fleet's warriors…And Dewayne Kells and Sven Robbins were well known…well…maybe _infamous_, at most of them!

It was at a tavern called Harleigh's that Robbins and Kells had last parted company. They also parted with well over 5,000 cubits between the two of them for damages that they had incurred in one of the most savage, knock-down/drag-out fights that had ever occurred on Harlow's World before then or since.

The fight had started as almost all fights between friends do…over something as trivial as a Pyramid game score and how each thought the play _should_ have been called. Both of them had more than their fair share of alcohol that night and it wasn't long before the loud rhetoric became shoving, and the shoving became swinging. Finally a blow landed and that was it…The fight was on!

It didn't help that there were deckhands and Marines of several ships on the sidelines egging them on and placing bets on the outcome. Nor did it help that the alcohol deadened their common sense. Maybe it was just that both of them were so numb that neither realized just how badly he was getting banged up that they kept on going.

The odds favored Robbins. He was taller by a fist than Kells and at least 10 kilos heavier. It was also well known that Robbins was an SST operator, and those guys were some of the most feared among all the Colonial Forces.

Kells, however, was not to be ruled out. He _was_ smaller, yes, but that also meant lighter and able to maneuver faster than Robbins. And SST operator or not, Kells was no slouch in close quarters combat himself.

In any case, the debate as to who "won" the fight was never satisfactorily resolved. It took several local police and a dozen Colonial Forces Shore Patrol to separate the two combatants. Several of the patrol got themselves banged up pretty good in the process of breaking up the fight. Many other contests would be fought that night over who owed whom for what, and why their particular champion "really" won.

They were taken off-world to separate ships by the Shore Patrol. Robbins caught a mission to places unknown and Kells went on to be MarDET commander for the Star Cruiser Farwest Horizon. That was the last each saw of the other.

Until now.

"Well, they tell me I'm the chief of security here, but we've not had much to do lately!" Robbins was actually glad to see Kells. The Great Harleigh's Bar Fight was all but forgotten for him. _Especially,_ since as he saw it, he had won!

"But if your arrival here is any indication and the look on Alastair's face is any clue, it looks like business is about to pick up…"

Kells didn't know what to say.

The thought crossed Kells' mind that they may be the last humans alive.

As they shook each other's hands, Samantha O'byea stepped up to the dais and began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what I am about to show you is horrifying…"

That, thought Dewayne Kells, was an _understatement_.

ELEVEN

Samantha O'byea was obviously shaken. She looked out at the assemblage. She tried to guess how many faces she was looking at…150? 200? It was hard to guess. The facility was in the middle of shift rotations. A lot of the facility's regular staff were at or enroute to their homes for vacations, and an accurate headcount was hard to come by.

As O'byea took the stage, the rumblings amongst the miners became muted whispers, then gradually tapered off as she rose to the dais. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then leaned into the microphone.

"It appears as though the home worlds have been attacked.." There was a sudden silence in the audience, followed by cries and gasps of disbelief.

"Most of you know the Breaker Castle made an emergency landing here just a while ago. They bring word of a disaster that has befallen Aerilon. I'll let her captain tell you what has happened…" Her voice cracked. She was shaking and there was an obvious wavering of her tone. The Administrator's voice trailed off and she took her seat next to the dais.

Captain Rohs stepped up to the podium and ran the approach camera film.

As she had in O'byea's office, Rohs ran down the details up until the Breaker Castle came out of blackout, and then the horrific, terrifying details of the BeeCee's escape from the carnage of the nuclear holocaust wrought on Aerilon.

She stopped the video at the point that the first Cylon Heavy Raider dropped it's lethal cargo on Spaceport City and then allowed the film to advance one frame at a time until the device exploded. The bomb blast only took three or four frames to fill the screen.

Standing at the back of the stage Dewayne Kells could see almost every face in the audience as the lights came up. They were almost frozen stiff as if the auditorium itself had been suddenly opened to space.

The fear was palpable…The disbelief nauseating….Anger that was painful. Yet still the denial…Weeping…

Alastair Kohn stepped up to the dais next.

"Friends, the next few hours will tell us where we stand in this situation." Alastair had to pause and clear his throat. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure. "Unfortunately we don't have a direct link to Aerilon except by translight relay buoys and right now we don't think it's safe for us to send one. If this is truly the holocaust that it appears to be the last thing we want to do is let the Cylons know that there are survivors and where we are…"

A woman's voice called out from the back of the auditorium…"What about the Fleet? _Where are they_…?" There was a panicked, almost angered tone to her voice.

Alastair turned to Gunner Kells. He took two quick steps to the podium. "Just after we arrived on Menno Seven Three I checked the local military guard channels. There's no wireless traffic on any frequency, either in the clear or encoded. If there's a Battlestar or Starcruiser within comms range of here they aren't talking…"

Another voice, a man, spoke up next. "What about food…We've got to eat if we're going to survive!" His tone was anxious and the subject obviously hit a responsive cord as the tenor of the crowd rose with it.

Samantha O'byea stepped back in and raised her hand to try and calm the crowd. The loud whispers were gradually rising after the food question, and it took a few raps on the dais with a gavel to bring the meeting back under control.

"That's one of the few resources that we're not in any immediate danger of running out of. The _Carrigan and Davis_ dropped stores off to us only three weeks ago and the Breaker Castle has two Pods with perishable and non-perishable goods on board. Along with our emergency rations we have enough to keep everyone in this room fed for eight months…maybe a year if we're careful."

She paused for a moment before she went on. Her miners worked hard hours for their pay and benefits. No one was going to like having to reign in their habits, especially their dietary ones, even under these circumstances. But better to get it out there now than later.

"We'll have to cut the cafeteria hours to three meals a day instead of our regular three plus midnight meals, however as of tonight we are shutting down all drilling operations except for the tylium ore that we will need to fuel the Vipers and Raptors and to keep the lights and air re-processors running…"

Kells had been listening thoughtfully with his head down but it snapped right up when he heard "_Raptors_" in the plural. Perhaps the Administrator just made a mistake, but as far as _he_ knew there was only _one_ Raptor in the hold of the Breaker Castle.

He redirected his gaze to Sven Robbins. Maybe it was him, but he thought he saw the Security Director snicker. Just then Sven gave him a wink and a nod.

"He's got Fleet birds stowed here!" he said to himself. Would it be too much to hold out for ammo for the Vipers, too?

But how many stick jockeys could possibly be in this crowd? He knew Robbins was a good Viper driver, so that was one. Kells himself was a fair Raptor pilot and could stand his ground in a Viper if the odds were at least even. There was Captain Rohs and her First Officer Will Cately. Robbins said he had five personnel in his office…Maybe a couple more there…?

Kells redirected his gaze back to the podium and Ms O'byea. "…and I will expect all shift managers and department heads to have those reports in the conference room at 08:00. Captain Rohs and Gunner Kells, I would like to have you in on this, please…"

Kells cursed himself for having missed whatever was said between the "Raptors" comment and the announcement of the meeting, but he'd fill in the holes later. He nodded in the affirmative as Ms. O'byea scanned the members of the staff standing beside her.

"Last thing, everyone…" she added. "We can't afford any mistakes right now. Sven Robbins will be setting an around-the-clock security watch with Gunner Kells and his Marines. Stay alert and above all, stay safe…"

Alastair Kohn stood at the back of the group behind the podium and took stock of what had just transpired, including his boss's handling of the whole situation from the first phone call three hours ago until now.

Two hours and forty-five minutes ago he wouldn't have given a wooden credit token for the chances of her being able to step up and manage a crisis any more challenging than deciding whether to have one scoop of ice cream at dinner or two.

After tonight, he might have to rethink his assessment.

TWELVE

Dewayne Kells looked around the auditorium. How a mountain of a man like Sven Robbins could disappear that fast was beyond him. A trait, no doubt, of his years as a Special Surveillance Team warrior. After all, what good would all the intelligence in the world be if the guy who gathered it got caught…Or worse…

Kells excused himself from the stage and moved swiftly out of the auditorium doors towards the hangar bay. He rounded the next corner not giving much thought to where he was going or what was in his way when he suddenly found his right arm twisted up behind his shoulder blades and an arm three times bigger than his own around his neck.

Robbins.

"I was looking for you…You can put me down now…" Kells' half-choked words were almost "matter-of-factly".

Robbins dropped Kells on his feet and slapped him on the shoulders. "Well…looks like I was right again…" he boomed. A smile as big as the asteroid itself was on his face for having got the drop on his old friend like that.

"And how would that be, Sven? About bad news being on my coat tails, or that foul play we fought over on Harlow?"

"Both, I guess…" Sven's smile dissipated as he suddenly realized that most of the old haunts on Harlow's World were probably smoking holes right now. Gone forever would be Harleigh's, the Cabana Caprican along with dozens of other clubs and dives that had been the foundation of a lifetime of memories.

Friends and places that had been vivid only hours ago now seemed as distant as the Sagansan Nebulae.

"Look, if it means anything, I'm damned glad it's you here, Dewayne. I can think of a dozen other Marines I'd be glad to have along right now, but as far as I am concerned, our chances of making it out of this alive just tripled."

In just two sentences Robbins erased years of animosity between the two. "You got any ideas on what's going on?" he added.

Kells dwelled on that for only a second, and then a smirk came over his face…"I dunno…Depends on what you were winking at me about back in the auditorium…"

The stoic look on the big man's face melted away to rekindle his "I Know Something You Don't Know" smile again, and he let loose a stifled guffaw…"I was wondering if you caught that! Yeah, I have some, uh…well…let's just say I've been keeping some Colonial Fleet assets in cold storage for a rainy day. But it seems like it's about to pour, so follow me…"

Robbins directed Kells down the tunnel towards the hangar bay but then diverted him through a side service door opposite of Bay 4. They entered a darkened space. "About three years ago I was called to the home office on Caprica to attend a special meeting. I was told that no one was to know where I was going or how long I would be gone. As far as the paperwork was concerned, I was on holiday."

"When I got to Caprica City, Fleet Admiral Skibbe and a handful of commanders and other assorted Fleet Headquarters command types were in the company's offices. There were a few faces there that I'm sure you'd remember. I know I sure did. Anyway, they were looking to set up equipment caches in case 'something' happened."

Sven took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds and then let it go with a deep sigh.. "Well…I guess this was the 'something' someone was expecting. In any case, they left a few items here for me to look after."

Robbins startled the Marine briefly as he reached over Kells' shoulder to a switchbox on the wall behind him and threw a power breaker switch. There was a loud "klunk" followed by the clanking of relays as massive mercury vapor lights in the ceiling started to glow their familiar silver-orange glow. But even in the low level light of the warming bulbs, Kells could see the nose of what appeared to be a Mark II Viper sticking out from behind one tarp.

"Oh my _fraking _Gods!"…He didn't mean to say it out loud, but after what he'd gone through today, Kells was elated to have something good happen. As the first mercury lights warmed up to full brilliance the next set of lights came on. Sticking up from the tarp behind the Viper were the tell-tale twin tails of a Raptor. As the third bay illuminated yet another Raptor became apparent. And as the fourth bay lights came up, Kells could see the distinctive silhouettes of weapons shipping pods and mobile operations and maintenance pods along the far wall. There were least a dozen that he could see.

"_Sweet Lords of Kobol, Sven! _Just how many ships have you got here and how many munitions…?".

"Let's just say that I can put every Marine in your troop in arms and keep them re-loaded for quite a while! There's weapons and ammo here for 100 Marines for 90 days. Rifles, sidearms, grenade launchers, combat optics and a portable DRADIS terminal. It's enough for an infantry company to feel right at home for a long time."

Robbins only paused for a second, but Kells was having a hard time taking it all in…He couldn't believe what he was seeing, yet there it was.

"The Viper is actually an FTL-capable Mark II. They dropped off the centerline sublight engine and installed a single nacelle FTL drive and designated it the "_Mark II Plus" _for obvious reasons. As far as I know, there's only a dozen or so of these birds around. She's not even registered in the Colonial database. One of my officers called her the _FoxViper_ and it's stuck." Sven paused for a moment, taking in the look of astonishment on his old friend's face.

"It's slower in the sublights than a Mark 7, but it's got the special recon DRADIS installed. She was meant to be a snoop-and-pooper, not a fighter, so the ammo load on this one is light…just enough to make em' duck before you jump out. As for other ammo, there's at least 500,000 rounds of Kinetic Energy Weapons and maybe a hundred Firesnake missiles." The burly security chief paused as if to let his old friend assimilate everything going on around him.

"We were supposed to get a permanent detachment of Marines and a detachment of Fleet armorers and mechanics, but I guess they didn't make it. Both of the Raptors are long-range DRADIS pickets but still have their cannons intact. The idea was that if Fleet H-Q got any advanced warning of Cylon activity we could launch recons from out here without showing any surface or fleet launches around the home worlds. The Cylons could easily keep the known battle groups under surveillance, but not even the Cylons could watch every potential mining operation that might be hiding a recon team without being detected themselves!"

"And what about fuel…" This was almost too good to be true, thought Kells. "I didn't see any mooring points for tankers."

"That's where this gets even better. Along with the other primary ores they're mining here, this rock is particularly rich in Tylium. And…" Sven paused for a bit of dramatic effect. "…we have a small refiner here. As long as we don't try to engage a Cylon base ship, we can keep the BeeCee and all the fleet birds gassed up for a while. A year with what we have on hand now without extra mining. If we just keep the excursions to a minimum, we can probably stretch it quite a while."

For the first time in twelve hours, Dewayne Kells allowed himself the privilege of taking a deep sigh of relief. He looked to his old friend and gave him a slap on the shoulder.

The Gods may have been asleep at the switch on Aerilon this afternoon, but they sure had been smiling on Menno Seven Three.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

_A World Turned Upside Down_

Chapter One

Samantha O'byea was startled. She walked into the conference room at 07:50 expecting to have to wait on stragglers, yet every department manager, shift supervisor, and section head was seated at the table. Along the back wall were Captain Rohs, Gunner Kells and the flight crew from the Breaker Castle.

She wasn't two steps inside the room when everyone rose at their seats. The abrupt movement startled her and she stepped back briefly. Not even on her best day since she'd arrived on Menno Seven Three had the staff ever rose on her entry to the room.

Now she was embarrassed. For whatever reason, she suddenly realized that she was surrounded by people who were on the payroll at Outer Belt Mining Industries before she reached menarche. She should be standing for them! She sheepishly raised her left hand and asked everyone to have a seat. The staff did so quickly. The shuffling of chairs and papers was brief and purposeful.

It took her a couple of shots at clearing her throat before she could get her mouth to start moving to the words she'd tried reciting coming down the hall.

"I…uh….I'm….I'm…" _That's right…Make a fool out of yourself_…_Stammer like a primary schooler in a first-grade play_, she thought.

She looked to Alastair Kohn who was seated at the first left seat. She knew that he held her in some disregard as a manager. She was unprepared as a remote site manager in the first place and now she was suddenly in charge of a fifty kilometer long spinning refugee camp. She was now, for all intents and purposes, the governor of a small colony. Truth be known, she was paralyzed.

But if there was any disdain or disapproval in Kohn's affect, he sure wasn't letting her know now. As their eyes met, O'byea could see him take a deep breath, pull his shoulders back a bit and straighten his stature. As he did, there was a bit of a curl of a smile on his lips and then he gave her a wink. Like a dozen other rookie managers before her, he was coaching her without saying a word.

"_Lords of Kobol, don't let me frak this up. These people are depending on me" _she thought to herself.

"I want to thank you all for being so prompt" she started. "I know we've got a full slate of things to get worked out here. I am sure there are a thousand things we need to be doing right now, but our first priority is our security and survival…"

She took a deep breath that she held for several seconds. She'd only spoken four sentences, yet her mouth was dry and the words were not coming easily. Having not had more than an hour's sleep last night hadn't helped, but then she imagined that very few people in this room had slept well last night. She allowed herself to exhale, then she reached for her water glass. A quick sip and she turned to Sven.

"I guess first things first…Mr. Robbins, how's our security situation…?"

Sven Robbins was at the opposite end of the table. He rose slowly from his seat picking up his clipboard as he did. Even five meters away he was an imposing hulk of a man. "Well Ma'am…As you may know, Gunner Kells and I are old acquaintances from the Fleet. He and I worked out a security watch schedule. Between him, myself, the twenty five Marines from the Breaker Castle and my staff, we have thirty-two combatants. We set up a watch schedule that included a walking patrol inside the facility, and an eyeball watch at the four observation domes. We also set a passive DRADIS watch."

Samantha was already impressed but a bit confused…She thought she counted several more uniforms in Bay 6 yesterday.

"Excuse me, Mr Robbins, but I thought there were more Marines than…"

Normally, Dewayne Kells would have "aggressively redressed" a civilian that mis-identified a regular fleet "deck ape" for any Marine, but now was not the time or place.

"No Ma'am…" Kells stood up from his seat behind his friend. "…those other personnel are regular Colonial Fleet, not combat Marines…Basically deckhands and aircraft handlers. We'll be able to use them to keep the Raptors and Vipers flight ready, but they are not combatants…"

O'byea paused for a second. All she knew about the military was that there were officers and enlisted persons. They saluted each other a lot, liked to shoot guns and fly really fast space craft. But now she also knew that these military folks might be the difference between life or death.

The learning curve, she could tell, was going to be very steep.

"How are we positioned for defending ourselves, Gunner?" It was a direct question and she just wanted a short, simple answer.

"Well Ma'am, we have two Mark II Vipers and the one Mark II _FoxViper_. We also have three Raptors available to us. Pilots are a problem, though. Between Sven, myself, Captain Rohs and First Officer Cately we are at least two pilots short if we tried to put all of the birds in the air at once. Sven, Captain Rohs and myself are the only fully qualified Viper drivers but none of us have flown a combat training sortie in over 5 years. Will Cately is a certified ferry pilot for Vipers and Raptors, but he hasn't got any tactics or weapons training."

Kells paused for a second and then looked directly at Samantha as if to make a point. "In any case, Sven and I think we shouldn't be too anxious to spread our wings right now. The Cylons will be actively looking for any signs of activity anywhere their sensors can scan. Judging by what's happened on Aerilon we can assume their technology has taken a few giant leaps since we saw them last."

O'byea paused yet again and digested what she had just heard. It made sense to assume that the Cylons would be looking to clean up any loose ends that managed to escape the attacks. The BeeCee's arrival at Aerilon and obviously successful F-T-L escape would surely have been noticed.

"OK, Gunner…No flights out of the facility. I understand that we're not actively scanning on DRADIS either?"

"No Ma'am, just passive scans. Even encoded digital DRADIS signals can leave an RF path that can be followed to its source under the right conditions. An active DRADIS scan would be an engraved invitation for company to come knocking right now."

"And what about sending the translight relay buoys back to Aerilon or Caprica?" She knew that the question on everyone's mind was…"how bad?"

Gunner Kells and Sven Robbins whispered to each other for a moment, obviously debating an answer. Kells re-took his seat and it was Robbins that spoke up next.

"Not yet, Ms O'byea. As tiny as they are, they can still be seen on DRADIS. If the Cylons picked it up and took it inside their ship as the probe recycled its jump cycle it could bring a heavy raider with it. All it would take is just one ship to find us and the jig would be up. We're in no shape to fight off an attack by even _one_ Raider right now."

There were muted whispers around the table and it was apparent that not everyone around the table agreed. Most of the people around the table had families, loved ones and friends on the homeworlds. Many of those were on Aerilon. They needed to know their fate.

"No" was not going to be an acceptable option. Truth be known, Kells and Robbins wanted to know too…yes, even _needed_ to know.

Sven Robbins leaned over to the Gunner, and then again to Alastair Kohn. Kells and Kohn nodded as Robbins whispered to each of them. After a couple of minutes, Robbins turned to the table.

"Folks, I know that other than our own immediate survival, which in the short term doesn't seem to be in imminent danger, everyone's wondering what our families may be going through back home. Launching a translight buoy from here would be tantamount to inviting the Cylons to dinner. What I propose, however, is to take a Raptor and a translight buoy to a remote location. We'll drop the buoy from the remote site and then bug out. We'll return twenty-four hours later and pick it up. The Raptor will be exposed for only four or five minutes on either end. Then we'll know…"

The translight buoys were actually miniature ships in their own right, designed solely for carrying "wireless traffic", voice mail, e-mail, and other data between points that were more than an hour distant from each other via traditional communications methods. It wasn't quite "instantaneous", but it was better than the alternative. Aerilon was 6.3 light years from Menno. There was no way to make wireless waves travel faster than light all by themselves. But when the data was up-loaded to one of these F-T-L equipped buoys, traffic could be passed in hours, not years. This one would do double duty by being programmed to do some photography, too.

Samantha O'byea looked around the table. There were nodding heads all around.

"When can you launch, Mr. Robbins…?"

TWO

The rest of the meeting went as smoothly as one might expect under the circumstances. They already knew that there was adequate food, air and water for many months. Menno's own reactor would keep the lights and heat on for at least four years with the fuel already mined and some gentle coaxing from the maintenance teams. Now the only thing to do was to stay alive and try to figure out the next step.

Sven Robbins and his team wouldn't be able to leave for at least 48 hours. It would take that long to pull the Raptor out of storage and get her ready to fly. There was also the task of re-programming the buoy itself for a new mission. Everyone agreed that the buoy would be ordered to jump into Aerilon orbit and scan all of the media satellites and surface distress frequencies. Its cameras would also be tasked to search Spaceport City and several other major cities on the surface for damage.

Samantha O'byea kept three of her managing staff behind. Ayellen Ballew was the housekeeping manager. It was her responsibility to keep the billeting facilities in working order. Now she would also be responsible for finding berths for the fifty-two souls of the Breaker Castle.

For it's remoteness and desolate location, Menno had a rather remarkable housing facility. There were actually four billeting units inside the asteroid. Say what you would about "The Company", they had made good use of the space whittled out of the huge asteroid and made life here, even for the seasonal miners, comfortable.

The largest and most well appointed was the Facility Senior Staff berths. Samantha O'byea, Alastair Kohn, Ayellen Ballew, Dr. Sayid and several other "front office" managers had what amounted to a small three room apartment each. There were also three two-bedroom guest apartments for visiting OBMI or Colonial Mining Safety Inspectors who may be making rounds to Menno. Captain Rohs, Gunner Kells and the flight crew of the BeeCee would benefit from those facilities now.

The next two facilities were almost identical. They were separate male and female barracks and each could house over two hundred workers. A few rooms in each building were reserved for married couples. As one might expect, the women's dorm was only half occupied as the majority of the mining crew on Menno were men. Nonetheless, the spaces were fairly large compared to a Starcruiser or Battlestar and allowed for some privacy. Afterall, the asteroid was fifty kilometers long. Why let that space go to waste? In any case, they were modularized and could be pulled out on a moments notice and used elsewhere if necessary, so it wasn't as if The Company had made a one-time investment here.

The last facility was for the permanent staffers. The mining crews were rotated on a three month rotation so they got the barracks. The permanent staffers were the folks who kept Menno running…the cafeteria staff, medical, housekeeping, utilities maintenance and the like. They got facilities most like "real" houses or apartments. They were modular two-bedroom apartments and housed about one hundred residents. Most impressive of these units were the holographic "windows" in each unit. The occupant could program them to represent views from their own homes or any other place of their choosing, even when the virtual sun rose or the moons appeared.

Back on the homeworlds these folks were known as Rock Hounds. It took a special person to be able to live inside an asteroid for a year at a time, so at the very least they deserved decent living quarters.

Senior Chief Petty Officer Alyssya Teague and the senior enlisted Marines would get a couple of the empty apartments. That was a hard decision for Ayellen Ballew to make, however, as the former residents had been on Aerilon, she figured that they wouldn't mind.

The main hangar bay of Menno Seven Three was a technological marvel in it's own right. After the OBMI prospectors had determined that the asteroid was financially feasible, engineering teams came to the rock with explosives and laser drills. It took almost half of a year to dig out what would be the landing and loading bays. Getting the ore off of Menno Seven Three as efficiently as possible was imperative if the company was to realize any profit, so these bays were large and well lit. There were loading rails into and out of the bays to allow pre-loaded ore containers to be placed directly into the freighters.

All traffic into and out of Menno Seven Three, with the exception of a couple of general purpose working airlocks at each end of the oblong asteroid, came through these portals. There were six bay doors capable of handling multiple arrivals and departures simultaneously. Each bay could be isolated from the others allowing for the longshoreman crews to load or offload a ship without environmental suits while other bays were open to space.

The warehouse that housed Sven Robbins' FTL Viper and two Raptors was adjacent to Hangar Bay 4. When the warehouse doors themselves were opened, each bird could be man-handled into the bays for an unassisted self launch. Also, Bay 4 was the only one that could be manually depressurized and had the only doors that could be pushed open by hand if there was a power failure.

Many of the longshoreman crew had long wondered why Bay 4 was so special and never seemed to get any traffic in or out. Now they knew.

The massive hangars were built mid-rock. With the excavation of the asteroid from the inside-out, they wanted to keep it's mass as even as possible as the mining process went on. By putting the hangars midway, they forced the mining process to keep the asteroid evenly developed. It also meant minimal gravity forces in the middle and that made handling of cargo containers that much easier. Forces here were on the scale of a few tenth's of a gee force. It was enough to keep your feet on the ground under most conditions if you were well trained, but more than one unprepared new arrival had bounced themselves off the ceiling of the bays when not paying attention.

Most of the facilities, including medical, the theater, the cafeteria, the canteen and the housing units were located just off center of the hangars to take advantage of the gravity offered by the artificial spin. There were also "camping pods" at each of the far ends of the rock that allowed workers some respite from the work without having to drive the twenty kilometers to 'center rock' just to put their feet up for a while. They were pressurized and self-sufficient for the occasional overnighter, but not for equipped for long stays. They weren't meant to house people permanently…Just allow them some minor comfort and safe haven in an emergency.

Menno's medical facility was almost a mini-hospital. Dr. Sayid's staff only included two nurses and two paramedics, yet they were able to perform some of the best emergency care and basic hospital functions for the inhabitants of Menno Seven Three that any "real world" emergency department could do. Of course any serious injuries had to be jumped back to Aerilon or Caprica, but in most cases, help was just a distress e-mail away. It would take up to four hours to get a message back to the Colonies in a major emergency and then anywhere from one to four hours to get a ship to the asteroid to evacuate the sick or injured worker if Menno's own shuttle wasn't available.

Samantha O'byea let that thought sink in for a bit…Gods forbid that the Cylons came to Menno Seven Three…

Back in Hangar Bay 6, Brad Westling and Greto Park went about the business of inspecting the BeeCee for any damage and preparing her for space again. The pressurized hangar bays of Menno Seven Three allowed for a close once-over that they usually couldn't do at a lot of the places they visited. After her harrowing escape from Aerilon, Westling wanted to make sure his ship didn't have any holes in her or parts missing before they went back into space again. After seeing the approach camera footage, he was amazed that the wings were still attached.

Greto also had another task, and that was to off-load the two Vipers and the Raptor into Menno's hangar bays. That Sven Robbins had some Colonial assets here was of major relief to the loadmaster as he hadn't a clue as to how he would have gotten these things out of his hold without the ground handling gear. Had the BeeCee made it to Aerilon it wouldn't have mattered. Park would have just figuratively thrown the keys of the cargo doors to the ground crew and gone for a cold drink. Hell, even if they'd been in zero-gee they could have pushed the things out with their hands. But even the low artificial gravity of Menno Seven Three was enough to make that very dangerous, if not impossible.

Dewayne Kells knew that offloading the birds would be problematic too. This was where his plan for SCPO Teague and her deck apes came into play. Maybe they wouldn't have a "real" flight deck to work from, but they would be able to set up an ad hoc flight operation. At least it would keep them busy for the mean time and busy meant not focusing on the carnage at home.

THREE

Alyssya Teague sat at the farthest table from the door of Menno's cafeteria. In front of her was a desk-top sized piece of graph paper. At her feet was a slowly growing pile of paper cuttings, the result of her careful forming of the silhouettes of three Vipers and three Raptors. As she finished the last Raptor cut-out, she laid each of the pieces side-by-side. Once content with her handiwork, she set them aside and pulled a notepad and pencil close to her.

She closed her eyes for a moment and began to mentally re-create the dimensions of the hangar bay that Gunner Kells and Mr. Robbins escorted her through only an hour before.

Kells and Robbins had revealed the cache of warbirds with a bit of dramatic flair. They had asked her to meet them outside of Hangar Bay 4 to discuss the offload of the two Vipers and the Raptor from the Breaker Castle which confused her since she knew the BeeCee was in Bay Six. As she rounded the corner from the main hall to the hangar complex, Kells and Robbins were standing by a door marked "COLONIAL FORCES PERSONNEL ONLY". The Gunner waived her over and offered her his hand. Why there would be a door for military personnel on a civilian mining rock was intriguing.

"Thanks for coming down, Chief…I want you to meet an old friend of mine, Sven Robbins." Sven leaned forward and offered the Chief his hand, and she shook it in turn. "We served on the old Calonian Star a few years back. He's the head security honcho on this rock and one of the best card players on seven of the twelve home worlds." With that Sven reached over and laid a feigned punch to the Gunner's shoulder. "We've got an operations problem that I think you and your crew can help us with, if you're game…" Maybe it was just her, but she detected something in the Gunner's tone and body language that suggested that 'now' might be a good time to duck…She didn't feel threatened, so much, as she felt like something was coming her way. This may or may not be a good thing.

"Sure Gunner…looks like we're going to have nothing but time on our hands. What's up?" Chief Teague couldn't help but let go of a little bit of an embarrassed smirk as the two men in front of her were obviously hiding something. She hated being on the outside of a secret. Somehow she was almost expecting to be handed a mop and bucket as some sort of practical joke but under the current circumstances she couldn't really fathom someone going out of their way to perpetuate so lame a gag.

Just as Robbins had led Kells into the same bay a day earlier, now the both of them led Senior Chief Teague into Bay Four's secret parlor. And just as Kells had reacted the day before, the Chief's jaw almost hit the hangar bay floor.

"Let me guess…You're sorely in need of a Deck Boss and my name was on a very short list of potentials…?" She couldn't help but soak in the grins on the faces of the two men in front of her. Suddenly the dour, fatalistic mood of the last twenty-four hours was lifted. "So…six against 10,000…Hardly seems fair for them, does it?" she asked jokingly.

Under different circumstances, the suggestion might seem like a bit of Fleet bravado. Right now, however, the men and women of Menno Seven Three at least had a fighting chance of defending themselves. The Cylon's element of surprise was gone. Three Vipers and three Raptors hardly made a good Recon patrol let alone a defensive section, but at least they would put up a token resistance if the toasters showed up.

"Chief…I need for this bay to be mission ready in twenty-four hours." Gunner Kells' affect had become more serious. "Can you get me there?"

Alyssya ran her hand over the nose of the Fox Viper then stooped down to look under the ship. "When was the last time these birds saw any airtime, Mr Robbins?" Teague could already see hydraulic fluid on the deck and a slight tapping on the fuel tanks told her it had been quite a while since this plane was last skids-up.

"Hmmmm…They were ferried here about two years ago…"

Chief Teague let go a groan. Every deck ape worth their salt knew that these machines were like pedigreed daggits. If you didn't keep them fed, groomed and exercised they got fat and lazy. Maybe that's why most of the black shoes took some unique pride in pointing out that it might take an academy degree to fly them, but a secondary school diploma to love them!

"Give me forty-eight, Sir. I've only got ten folks to work with, and only five of them are experienced deck hands. The other five are book worms and box-droppers." Teague's slang reference to administrative clerks and supply technicians at first disheartened Kells, but then he remembered that even this small detachment would have to keep the supplies organized and the records straight.

"Forty-eight it is, Chief. But at forty-eight hours and one minute, we are launching a translight buoy recon mission. We're going to jump to the far side of Aerilon, drop a buoy and then bug out again. We'll go back twenty four hours after that to recover it and get an idea of how bad it is on the surface before we try to do a direct recon. I need at least one Raptor to drop the buoy and the one FTL Viper to cover it's six."

Alyssya listened intently, nodding as the details were laid out to her. This was do-able..Soooooo do-able! "Aye aye, Sir. Forty eight to skids up."

She was back in her element.

She wasted no time in rounding up the deck hands that she had flown in with. Truth be known, she didn't know all of them that well…She had only joined the Battlestar Oreyus three months prior, however it now looked as if she'd have ample opportunity to find out what kind of stuff these folks were made of.

She knew she was starting out with a strong hand since she had worked with Plane Captain Jennie Yoder and First Mechanic Erick Foals quite often. Both were Viper mechs but since the Raptor engines were almost the same as the Viper, they'd just have to make due.

Two of the crew were airframe repairmen and coincidentally twin brothers. Jake and Jerrod Anderson served on different ships and had agreed to meet "half way" for an overdue reunion of sorts. Perhaps it was bad luck that they chose Aerilon for their shore leave or perhaps it was providential. They were the only boys of seven siblings. Alyssya had two brothers and a sister…Well…_maybe_ she had two brothers and a sister.

Avionics would be a problem. She was a "tweet" herself, however the only other avionics tech was Technician Kevin Payge. He seemed to be a motivated kid, but he'd only been working on Vipers for less than a year before today, and now he was going to be fifty percent of the "Avionics Division" of a six plane flight. He was cocky, to be sure. Chief Teague was holding her breath as she hoped that his practical skills and knowledge matched his bravado.

The other five crewmen were admin and supply types and two of them were in the clinic from their injuries. They'd be handy for the grunt work, moving the aircraft, cleaning them and simple turn-around chores, but they'd have to start cross-training. What a better opportunity to expand their horizons. Perhaps this whole thing will turn out to have been a local event and they'd all go home. But in any case, the troops would have some very glowing citations to go in their personnel files.

"Alie…? " Alyssya was startled out of her focused thoughts by a male voice. A _familiar _male voice. No…An _intimately familiar _male voice.

"Sit down, Don." she said without looking up. She didn't know whether to be elated that there was someone here she knew, even if it was an ex-husband, or if maybe she should just go out and shoot herself right now for landing on the only asteroid in 100 square parsecs of space that had an ex-husband on it. "How have you been keeping yourself…?"

"Hey Alie…" He knew that this wasn't going to be comfortable for either of them. "Mr. Kohn sent me down here to see what you needed to get Bay 4 up and running…And no, he doesn't know that we're…uhh…that _we_ have a history. Truth be known I wasn't sure if it was you until I saw you sitting here. I guess you kept his last name, huh?"

Alyssya Teague was Alyssya Janes in her maiden years. She was Alyssya O'Banion when she was married to the man sitting across from her now. She'd taken her maiden name back after divorce number one. After divorce number two she just didn't feel like going through the extra legal hassle of changing it yet again.

"Yeah…just didn't think it was worth the effort. How long you been here?"

"About three years. I went up to Vergisaw 9 after I got the papers from you. Was there until they closed it. Moved over here after that. And you?"

"Oh me? I just got here yesterday…" She held back as long as she could, but then she had to let a giggle go. Don O'Banion tried to hold one of his own back, but had to let a chuckle of his own go too.

O'Banion regained his composure and started to excuse himself. "Look…if it's going to be a problem I'll ask Kohn to have one of the other guys handle this. I'm sure when I tell him why he'll be OK with that…"

"No, Don…Don't do that. There can't be too many people he can go through, although I doubt that we brought in too many more ex wives or ex husbands!" She put her hand on his sleeved arm and encouraged him to keep his seat. He did so, and they sat for a moment in silence. "I'm sure Mr Kohn wouldn't have sent you if you weren't the right person for this…"

"Look, Alie…I never said I was sorry. And I…"

"Stop, Don. That was ten years ago. It was over when the ink dried on the papers. Besides, now's not the time."

Up until now, he'd not really looked her directly in the eyes. Now he caught himself eye-to-eye with her. Yes, it had been ten calendar years and many more light-years between then and now, but for a brief moment, it was as if it were an hour ago.

"Well…What are we doing here?" The words broke an awkward silence. O'Banion looked over Alyssya's handiwork on the table in front of him. "Is this how big girls graduate from paper dolls?"

Too bad he didn't have eyes on his kneecaps…He might have seen the kick coming that she delivered to his shins.

"Smart ass."

FOUR

The next thirty-six hours went by quickly. Don O'Banion and several of his fellow longshoreman quickly went about the business of driving in utility tractors and helping Alyssya Teague and the ad hoc deck crew off-load the Raptor and two Mark II's from the BeeCee. Thankfully, the hangar bays were close to the center-of-rotation of the asteroid so the artificial gravity here was at a minimum.

Since the three birds in the BeeCee were just going in for re-fits and weren't known to be heavy maintenance queens, they decided to try and get them up for the mission rather than have to deal with any unknowns on the Menno ships. Nonetheless, this meant having to get them out of the BeeCee, power them up, re-start the on-board computers and top off the tanks.

The translight buoy was another issue. Normally they would be launched from a special port above Menno's main hanger bays and then be recovered by a specially equipped shuttle when it returned. This time they'd be hand launched from the hatch of a Raptor and recovered the same way. Even in zero-gee, it would be an interesting evolution.

In the middle of Hangar bay Four was Senior Chief Teague and several of her deck crew. Even under these circumstances there would be maintenance checks to do and reports to keep. Just because things looked bad elsewhere didn't mean that they could cut corners now. _Especially _now, since it might be a _long_ time until they were relieved.

As the Chief made the assignments, the hangar bay door began to slide open behind her. She recognized the sound of an approaching utility tractor. "Excuse me, Chief Teague?…Ya gotta minute? Teague spun around to see who was addressing her. Hopping off of the slowing tractor driven by Don O'Banion was a red-headed woman who looked all of sixteen years old. She was taken aback by the sight and then remembered that she had to be at least age-of-majority to be here. She looked over to her ex and realized that she must have let one of "those looks" fly, because he was unsuccessfully trying to hide his own expression of surprise at her look.

Behind the tractor was a translight buoy resting in its support cradle.

She redirected her gaze back to the energetic redhead who called to her. "We gotta problem…." she said.

With only eight hours to go until skids-up, "_we gotta problem_" was _not_ what she wanted to hear. Teague redirected her attention momentarily to Don O'Banion then back the girl. "OK…and that would be?" The last 36 hours had only allowed for brief cat naps and her exhaustion was starting to show.

"Well Chief, I was running a pre-launch diagnostic when I saw this…" The technician turned the screen of a laptop computer around so the Senior Chief could see it. On the screen was a portable DRADIS interrogator. Just below the avatar for a Colonial translight buoy were the letters "TLB MNO-073/02". In plain Caprican, it announced the presence of a Colonial translight buoy along with the address of where it came from and it's serial number.

The Chief stared at the screen for a moment and wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to be impressed about. "OK. The transponder works. So what's the problem?"

The young technician let loose a sigh of exasperation. "That _IS_ the problem, Chief. These things are meant for commercial communications only. They _wanted_ these things to be seen in case they went haywire and wound up in the middle of a shipping lane or something! They were never meant to be used like you want to use it. I don't know how to shut it off. Ironically, we can reprogram it to go to or return from the farthest edges of our known commercial space, even for multiple F-T-L jumps. But there's no "off" switch for the transponder that I am aware of."

"And let me guess…No one here has the software to re-program the buoy otherwise…"

"No Ma'am…I wouldn't have bothered you otherwise." As the young technician paused for a second she became aware that the Senior Chief appeared to be trying to look at her name tag without being obvious that she was trying to see her name. She looked down on the front of her overalls and realized that her name tag had flipped over, masking her name and image. She turned it back over.

"My name is Bekka Robbins, by the way. Yes…we're related…Sven Robbins is my dad." The sudden introduction caught the Chief off guard. Had she been _that _obvious looking her over? And now that she mentioned it, the resemblance to Menno's security chief was evident.

"Mind if I ask you how old you are?" She probably didn't want to know, but afterall it was "_another woman_" that had broke her and Don O'Banion up, and here he was tooling around this asteroid with a comely lass.

"I'm twenty, Ma'am…I'm in an apprentice program for school. I've been studying translight information delivery systems. My dad arranged for me to work in Menno's FTL Buoy shop between semesters." Well…that explained a lot.

The younger Robbins resumed her report to the Chief. "Usually we only have to tell the buoy where to go. The rest is automatic."

Perched on the top of one of the Vipers, Kevin Payge had been listening to the exchange. A smile came over his face and he called out to the group on the hangar deck. "Hey Chief…mind if I take a look?" The young technician spun a quarter turn on his back side then slid off the top nacelle and onto the wing. He then slid on down to the hangar deck floor and was at the tractor in four or five steps .

The Chief stood aside and made a gentle "this way" gesture with her hands. "Be my guest, Payge, but remember, there's only two of these buoys. Don't….."

Before she could say "…_frak it up_…", Payge had slid in front of her and popped open an access port on the buoy just to the right of the service port that was already open. His fingers danced across the keypad in a brief fury, ending in the familiar "roger beep" of a new command being entered into a computer being acknowledged. Without hardly missing a beat, the young technician looked up at the awed Bekka Robbins and gave her quick smile and a wink. He then pivoted to the Chief.

"Whew…I need a cup of coffee…" The Senior Chief thought at first to re-arrange the cocky smirk on his face, but then thought better of it…Too many witnesses.

The Chief glanced down at the annunciator panel, and sure enough, highlighted in red were the words "TRANSPONDER OFF". If Senior Chief Petty Officer Alyssya Teague had any lingering doubts about whether Kevin Payge would be able to carry his own weight, they were gone now.

She glanced up at Don O'Banion. "Don't look at me, Alie! I'm just the chauffer!"

FIVE

Dewayne Kells had been relieved when he saw the "Woman On A Mission" look come over Alyssya Teague's face. Not that any of what he had seen about her so far led him to believe that she wouldn't tackle a challenge, nonetheless the current circumstances were enough to take the wind out of anyone's sails.

Teague, Kells and Robbins spent half-an-hour in the hangar bay discussing the mission to come and what resources would be needed to pull the job off. Just as they wrapped up, the Senior Chief came to attention and executed a smart salute. "I'll get it done, Skipper…"

Even in the middle of deep space, light years from nowhere, there was still "The Fleet". And although he still hadn't given it too much thought, she was right. He _was_ "The Skipper" now since he was the senior officer present.

He was also impressed…Most "regular fleet" deck apes weren't given to adhering to military customs and courtesies very closely, let alone demonstrating the sharp salute that the Chief had just rendered. He came to and returned the salute.

"OK, Sven…We've got the ride home, now who's going to saddle up?"

The Menno security chief pondered the thought for a moment. They'd need at least a crew of four…A pilot for the Viper and Raptor each, a right-seater for the Raptor and an extra set of hands to handle the buoy when they deployed and recovered it.

"What about Rohs for the Raptor? I've at least had some gunnery practice in a Mark II once upon a time. We'll need a back cabin crewman to help off load and grapple the buoy. Any of those grunts of yours EVA qualified?"

Kells suddenly remembered Sergeant Grant Lohan from the detachment of Marines from the Galactica. He had been grousing about a couple of new "boots" that he'd been trying to get EVA qual'ed before he left the aging battlestar. Guess he better track that young Marine down and congratulate him for volunteering.

"Yeah…I got a 'volunteer', and I'm sure he'll be glad to do it!," he snickered. "That's three. Guess I can fill the right seat going out."

Robbins was quick to respond. "Not this time, Dewayne. If I'm gonna to fly the Viper, we need to keep someone with some tactical experience here in case the frakking toasters come calling. One of my guys can fly right seat on the Raptor."

If there was anything Dewayne Kells really, _really_ hated, it was admitting that Sven Robbins was right…about _anything!_

"Yeah, guess you're rahahahah…I mean you're roooooooo……What I mean is…." Kells' feigned stammering was interrupted by the burly security chief's wave of a hand and his deep baritone voice.

"Forget it Jarhead. That's twice I've been _right_ in two days. That's good enough for me!"

The two shook hands and parted ways with Kells headed for the cafeteria. It was about noontime local, so he was willing to bet the troops were in the chow hall. And now _he _was right. The Marines had taken possession of three tables along the far wall and were doing what Marines do second best…uttering profanities and criticisms about the chow they were scarfing down almost as fast as they could complain about it.

As he headed towards the table, one of the junior troops saw the Gunner coming and snapped to his feet. "SENIOR OFFICER ON DECK!" he called out. The rest of the Marines, without looking around or hesitation dropped their forks and spoons and came to attention.

"Sergeant Lohan on me, everyone else carry on." The NCO happened to be one of the troops with his back to the main part of the cafeteria. He did a sharp about face and took three brisk strides until he was centered up on Kells.

"At ease, Sergeant." Kells returned the salute then looked the young NCO over briefly. He tapped the wings on the Marine's chest. "You're an enlisted EVA instructor. Have much time yourself?" Kells knew that those wings came at a price, yet he wanted to challenge his junior a bit.

"Yes Sir." The young sergeant replied, appearing unflappable. "Two years on Tauron and nine months on the Galactica. She's inbound to Caprica for retirement or I would've had another nine months out. I've put EVA wings on over two hundred Marines, Sir…"

Kells took a few seconds to size-up Lohan. He didn't look like "the poster Marine", but he was stocky and sharp. He was sure that if he took a few seconds to look, he'd find a uniform gig or some other silly boot camp infraction, but as he stood there he was all professional.

"Sergeant, we've got a mission. We're going to F-T-L a Raptor and Viper to a point on the far side of Aerilon, drop a comms buoy and then pick it up twenty-four later. I need an EVA qual'ed guy in the back of the Raptor. Know anyone who wants to go flying?"

As the sergeant raised his hand, the twenty-three Marines behind him also stood up simultaneously and raised theirs.

Kells reached up and tapped the sergeant on the shoulder. "Tag…you're it. Report to me at Hangar Bay 4 at 07:00 for a mission briefing. We fly at 13:00 day after tomorrow. Any questions?"

"No Sir!" came the immediate reply. Kells gave Lohan his hand and shook it. "Thanks, Marine…" Kells then lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "Now, who's the next senior Marine here, Sergeant?"

Lohan turned his attention to the table behind him and pointed out a tall, lanky kid with scalp-short blond hair and freckles galore. "That would be Lance Corporal Jarvis, Sir. Marine Specialist Ethan Miller is next in line pay-grade wise, but he's our corpsman. Jarvis is a good close-quarters man, sharp on the rifle range. I'll go to war with him, Sir."

The Gunner pondered that last comment for a second and thought to add that they probably already were at war. "Well, we're going to need a Corporal of the Guard. You wanna tell him he's promoted or shall I…?" he asked.

Sergeant Lohan gave the Gunner a nod. "I'm on it, Sir. I'll break him in!"

"Tell him to meet us in Hangar Bay 4 at 09:00. I'll brief both of you on what we're going to need to do over the next few weeks if this turns out to be a long term situation."

Kells then did an about face himself and headed for his quarters. He hadn't slept worth a damn since the attack. Now that he felt like they had taken at least some control back over their lives he could get some zee's.

SIX

Hanger Bay 4: 09:15 Hours

Unlike "the rest of the Fleet", Marines had their unique traditions and one of them was the Promotion Formation. Every Marine, from the newest Private First Class to the Commander-in-Chief Marine Forces got their chance to stand in front of their juniors and superiors alike and have their ascension acknowledged.

Time was precious, but so was this. Gunner Kells got his Marines into formation outside of Hangar Bay 4 and readied them for the time honored ceremony. He called the Marines to fall in and they came to attention with a snap.

Just after they came to, Senior Chief Petty Officer Alyssya Teague approached the Gunner from the hangar and came to attention. "Sir, Fleet Detachment Menno Seven Three requests permission to join the formation, Sir…"

Kells did an about face and looked just past the Senior Chief. Behind her were the ten other fleet crewmen by the door of Bay Four including two with head bandages on. The Gunner was glad to see them up and walking.

Kells returned the Senior Chief's salute. "Direct your troops to fall in to the left of the line, Senior Chief."

Teague dropped her salute and paced off several steps to the left of the Marine's line and turned to face an empty space. "FLEET DETACHMENT MENNO SEVEN THREE, FALL IN!" The ten crewmen raced to fall into two precise ranks facing her.

Kells was impressed. He also wondered how much maintenance time they'd blown off practicing this, however he still had to appreciate the effort. Certainly Lance Corporal Jarvis would.

Kells noticed Sven Robbins and a handful of the Menno longshoremen about 30 feet away, gathering and watching the miniature parade in front of them. They talked quietly among themselves but were respectful of the moment.

"Lance Corporal Jarvis, _front and center!"_

The young Marine was in the last man in the last rank of the Marine formation. He took one step to the rear, did an about face and smartly 'squared the corners' as he stepped briskly to the center of the formation. Coming to a stop in front of Gunner Kells, he did a right face and executed a sharp salute.

"_SIR, Lance Corporal Alvin Jarvis Reporting as ordered, SIR!"_

Gunner Kells returned the salute and turned to look over his right shoulder. Marine Private First Class Paula Edwards was a step to starboard and a step behind the Gunner. On his cue, she sharply raised a clipboard from her side to a position in front of her and began to recite the Promotion Warrant. As she began to read the warrant, Kells was impressed how her voice filled the space. There would be no doubt, even in the farthest corners of the bay, as to what was transpiring:

_To All Who Shall See These, Greetings._

_Know Ye That Having Proven His Honor, Loyalty_

_And Dedication to The Colonial Constitution, _

_The Colonial Fleet and the Colonial Marine Corps,_

_I do appoint Alvin E Jarvis a _

_CORPORAL _

_(Battlefield Appointment)_

_In The Colonial Fleet Marine Corps_

_And I Do Order And Decree That All Personnel _

_Of Lesser Grade and Appointment Shall Render Unto_

_Him Those Rights of Respect and Order as Are _

_Expected of Them and As He Shall_

_Render Unto His Superiors. _

_Signed this Twenty-Seventh Day _

_Of the Fifth Month of Aerilon in the year of _

_The Lords of Kobol 3517_

_Dewayne C Kells_

_Master Chief Warrant Officer_

_Marine Detachment Menno Seven Three_

Kells might take it on the chin for having executed a promotion without Fleet headquarters approval, but the attacks on Aerilon and the assumption of war meant that at least this Marine's appointment would remain permanent for him if they ever made it home again.

Kells took one step forward until he was face-to-face with the new Corporal and began to remove the now-obsolete lance corporal chevrons from his collar. Sergeant Lohan stood to the Gunner's left and received the old chevrons as he handed the Gunner the new devices.

"Corporal, I only expect the best you can give. Nothing more, nothing less. I hope that the mission we're flying tomorrow is the first step to going home, but if not, I am going to be depending on you. Be ready."

The new Corporal seemed to stand a little bit taller, if that was at all possible. "I hope so too, Sir. I'm Aerilonian. And I will be ready, Sir, no matter what."

As the Gunner re-took his spot, Sergeant Lohan came to attention and in his deepest, from-the-gut Marine voice:

_"So Say We All!"_

The Troops in the formation then called it back to him at the top of their voices, spirits high and with the eagerness of youth:

_"SO SAY WE ALL!"_

In the crowd of civilians watching over the proceedings, Sven Robbins stood in silent attention. "_So Say We All" he thought to himself. "So Say We All…."_

"Detachment, break ranks and form a school circle on me." Marines and Fleet all did an about face, did a 'fall-out', then formed a semi-circle around the Gunner. As they did, they all made an effort to shake the new Corporal's hand and then took a knee around the Gunner. As the crowd settled down, the Gunner cleared his throat and looked over the faces of the troops in front of him.

"OK…Here's the mission…"

SEVEN

Mission Day

Captain Jahlee Rohs, Sven Robbins, Sergeant Grant Lohan and Security Specialist William Johns met in the Ready Room of Menno Seven Three's flight operations office. With them was Alastair Kohn, Samantha O'byea, Dewayne Kells and Senior Chief Alyssya Teague and Longshoreman Don O'Banion. The mood was anxious, but everyone was smiling and chatting in soft tones.

Dewayne Kells took the podium and rapped gently on the microphone. A soft "pop-pop" could be heard in the speakers and he was satisfied that he would be heard without having to resort to raising his voice. Things were tense enough now as they were.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's get this underway." Everyone took their seats and Kells gathered his notes. "We all know the mission profile, so I'll dispense with going over those points. Sven Robbins will be the Mission Commander. Senior Chief, how do the birds look?"

Alyssa Teague stood at her seat and just turned to the others seated next to her. "Both ships are topped off and F-T-L ready. The FoxViper has 3,000 rounds of HE loaded along with two Firesnakes. Raptor 1014YJ has a full defensive electronic counter measures package loaded and preset. Specialist Payge spent several hours going over ECM operations with Mr. Johns. You'll have thirty seconds of full spread ECM to facilitate an emergency jump should it be necessary."

The Senior Chief took a deep breath and looked at her notes. "You have three alternate jump points pre-programmed into the FTL. We tried to plan them in a criss-cross so none of them appear to be coming directly back to us."

Sven Robbins looked around the room to see if there had been any questions up until then, and then stood. "When we leave here, I'll jump first and do a DRADIS sweep. Captain Rohs will be 30 seconds behind me." He turned to the freighter captain. "Jahlee, the second you come out of translight all I want you to do is say your callsign. If we're clear, I'll acknowledge in the clear. If not, I'll call "Danger Close, Danger Close, Danger Close" and you'll immediately jump to the first alternate coordinate."

Sven paused for a moment as if reading the checklist for the mission over-and-over in his mind then thought to add some more. "Jahlee, remember, _DO NOT_ deploy ECM unless you get an indication of lock-on. Remember, just because I see them and call for the bug-out doesn't necessarily mean they saw _us, _so let's not be any more intrusive than what we have to be."

Captain Rohs nodded her head in the affirmative. She couldn't agree more. She'd been close enough to Cylons once this week. She didn't care to find out if twice in one week would make it any better than the last.

Gunner Kells also nodded in agreement, then turned to Sergeant Lohan. "Sergeant Lohan, are you snapped in on the buoy?"

The Marine stood at his seat in turn. "Yes Sir. Once we get on scene and I get the thumbs-up from Captain Rohs I'll depressurize the cabin. Mr. Johns will come back and help me swing the buoy out the hatch. I'll be tethered to the safety reel. I'll walk the buoy to the wing tip, activate the automatic countdown and let her go. We then have 3 minutes to clear the buoy or get caught in her FTL wake."

The Marine sat down after seeing the Gunner's acknowledgement of his recital.

"Well…That's it then. Time to fly. Any questions?" The Gunner looked over the small group and saw that everyone appeared to be satisfied. "OK, folks. Time to saddle up…"

Before they could all get to their feet, Samantha O'byea stepped in front of the dais. "Sven, Captain Rohs, everyone…Thank-you, and please come home safe…"

That was a sentiment that no one could argue with.

The walk over to Bay 4 was quick but quiet. Sven was first to arrive in the bay and was in the cockpit of _Eight Yankee Zulu_ directly. Plane Captain Jennie Yoder helped him strap in and then handed him his helmet. He'd spent several hours in this bird over the last two days with the "avionics training mode" switched on and had done his best to give himself as thorough a review as he could, but nothing would ever take the place of good old practical experience. Robbins had done well with gunnery experience in the Viper years ago, but then that was the problem…it had been _years_ ago. He hadn't put rounds down range with anything more powerful than an assault rifle in over a decade.

Jahlee Rohs climbed up into Raptor Four Yankee Juliett and looked around. Like Robbins, it had been quite a few years since she had strapped on a Fleet warship, especially a Raptor. But as she slid into the left seat of the Raptor she suddenly had an in-rush of memories and sensations. First and foremost was smell. Well, perhaps "fragrance" was a better word. Somehow the different scents of fuel, Avionics, lubricants, filtered air and years of perspiration of hundreds of men and women who had spent time in these planes merged into a lingering scent that permeated all military combat craft. Even the Vipers she flew had the same scent.

Next were the sounds. The engines weren't on line yet, of course, but the auxiliary power unit was running as were the DRADIS and ECM scanners. She had always thought that the sweep of the DRADIS scanner was almost eerie. It had a distinctive hollow ring to it. There was nothing else that sounded like it.

Then there was the "klunk" of the EVA-equipped flight boots on the armored deck plating. One could be overwhelmed very quickly by how vast space was, and how incredibly frail and vunerable the human animal really was. But there was something reassuring about that solid connection between one's boot and the deck underneath them. It might be a false sense of security, but at least it was _some _sense of security!

Yet what amazed Jahlee Rohs the most was that there was actually a flight suit and helmet that fit her on Menno Seven Three! They had to special fit her when she was on Active Duty over a decade ago. It was surprising that there would be one here now. It was as if the Gods had pre-ordained her destiny to be here now.

Struggling to get his seat next to Captain Rohs was Security Specialist William Johns. Bill, as he was known to his friends, had been what his friends called a "techno-geek" since primary school days. From his earliest days, his parents had noticed that he was fascinated with anything electronic. At the age of six he'd obtained his Wireless Hobbyist license and made friends all over Caprica via a wireless set that he had built from a kit. As he got older, he would disassemble and re-assemble computers, processors, televisions, almost anything that had wires to it, he would take apart.

Academy was boring for him. It was as if they couldn't teach him enough new stuff as fast as he could absorb it. He graduated three years early. OBMI had offered him a position the day he graduated and he was all too quick to take it. The expectation of travel, excitement and technical challenges lured him to Menno Seven Three as a security systems engineer.

And it was on Menno Seven Three that most of that came to a screeching halt. He indeed got to travel. All the way to Menno. But the challenges and excitement were yet to be found. Until today, of course.

And it probably wasn't the time to let anyone know that he was a bit claustrophobic. Wearing a helmet was more terrifying to him than the concept of having to deal with the Cylons. As he slid into the front right seat of the Raptor his breathing and heartbeat were both accelerating. Enough so that Jahlee Rohs could hear it on her intercom.

"Bill…You alright over there?"

Johns had to think it over for a moment, but he was NOT going to be the reason this mission failed or got delayed. "Yeah, yeah…Just anxious to get this party started."

In the back of the Raptor, Sergeant Grant Lohan and Don O'Banion loaded the translight buoy into the aft cabin. It would be an awkward fit, however it did indeed fit. Lohan accepted O'Banion's hand, shook it then gave a thumbs up. Don O'Banion stepped back and returned the signal. As he did, the hatch on the Raptor closed briskly. Lohan could hear the pressure seals inflate. He sat down and lifted his helmet into place.

Game time.

As he snapped the helmet into place, Sergeant Lohan keyed his intercom. "Aft cabin sealed and secured. I'm belted in and ready to fly, Ma'am…"

Jahlee Rohs did a "double click" on her intercom toggle to acknowledge the sergeant's report, then looked to her left at the combat-ready _FoxViper _sitting next to her. It had been an effort nothing short of spectacular, but Alyssya Teague and her ad hoc operations team shook the spider-webs and dust balls out of the modified Viper and prepared it for this mission. Considering that none of them had seen such a bird before made the whole event even that much more astounding.

Sven Robbins had his head down in the cockpit for a moment but then looked up. He gave the "pull the chocks" signal to Plane Captain Yoder who then made a mad dash to each of the craft's three landing gear. She pulled the chock from under each one and then pulled the safety pin from each strut that prevented the gear from accidentally folding on the deck. She ran back to the front of the Viper and held them over her head for Robbins to see.

Once she saw that he acknowledged the pins were out, she handed them to one of the other fleet troops who ran the pins off the deck. She then gave the Security Chief the engine start signal. She held a "number 1" signal over her head and rapidly spun the fingers of the other hand to indicate to him it was OK to spin-up engine number one. As she saw the number one engine come up to speed, she bounced around to the starboard side of the Viper. Sven looked up at her and gave her a thumbs-up, indicating he was ready to spin up the number two sublight engine. Yoder acknowledged him and returned the thumbs-up signal. She repeated the start-up signal and Sven brought the number two sublight on-line.

She then walked over to Captain Rohs and repeated the same steps with her. Captain Rohs saw each of the "Gear Safety" lights switch from green to red as the pins came out. Yoder then moved back to the front of the Raptor and made eye contact with Captain Rohs. As she had with Sven Robbins, she gave the engine spin-up signal, watching for any sings of trouble as the engines were started. As Rohs brought the second engine on line, Jennie Yoder gave her a final salute and headed for the airlock door. Since this would be a self-assisted launch, Rohs and Robbins would have to wait for the bay to depressurize and then they would have to use the maneuvering thrusters to clear Menno Seven Three's hangar bay before going translight.

Robbins was closest to the door, so he gently lifted _-8YZ_ off the platform and turned towards the moving doors. As he turned his tail towards the Raptor, Rohs felt a gentle buffet as the exhaust of his engines ruffled the Raptor slightly. Then as he edged his way down the bay, Jahlee Rohs bumped the throttles of _-4YJ_ and lifted the Raptor off the deck. A slight bit of roll and rudder thrusters and she was taxiing behind the Viper.

From the control bay, Gunner Kells and Samantha O'byea watched as the two warplanes began their trip out of the bay. If it weren't so deadly serious they might appreciate the graceful movements of the craft as they cleared the doors. Robbins was about 100 meters ahead of the Raptor. Seconds later, with a flash of light, the Viper disappeared into the translight vortex. Thirty seconds later, the Raptor followed suit.

"_May the Lords of Kobol Keep and Bless you all." _Samantha O'byea hadn't prayed in years. Maybe today was the day to start again.

EIGHT

Jahlee Rohs watched the edge of the hangar bay slide past her peripheral vision as Raptor _-4YJ_ headed into space. She gently tapped the roll channel to get the ship to stop the roll that it was in as a result of Menno's own gravity spin. Just as she came wings-level with the Viper ahead of her, she saw it vanish into it's own translight vortex. She read down the checklist with Bill Johns and when she was sure that all was ready, she flipped up the switch guard that protected the F-T-L jump control.

"Here we go, folks…Jump in three…..two…..one…._JUMP!"_

From the back seat, it appeared to Sergeant Lohan as though the nose of the Raptor had been suddenly stretched into infinity and that all light, sound, and maybe even his very soul were being were being poured into the vortex. Thank the Gods this was a relatively short jump. He felt as if his heart had stopped mid-beat yet his mind still processed the experience. This was only his tenth translight jump. He often wondered if going translight was any different from death…Only in this case, you got to walk away from it!

Just as abruptly as it appeared to have been pulled away from him, the nose of the Raptor seemingly snapped back into position, almost like a rubber band being first stretched to its limit and then allowed to resume it's shape.

As she had coming out of translight at Aerilon four days ago, Rohs scanned the board for any warnings of a post-translight malfunction. Again, all appeared well.

As pre-arranged, she keyed the wireless and nervously sounded off her call sign. "_Raptor Four Yankee Juliett."_

She waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

Captain Rohs felt a cold chill go down her spine and she started looking around outside the cabin. "Sergeant…Eyes outside. Do you see anything?" the captain asked nervously. Without thinking, she dropped her hand to the FTL control panel and started to spool-up the translight drive in case she had to bug out sooner than she had anticipated.

Bill Johns also started stretching to look outside and back over his right shoulder.

Nothing.

The young sergeant had moved to the viewing port in the hatch on the left side of the Raptor. He scanned left, then right again. Then up then down…"All clear on the port wing, Captain. I don't see….uhhhhh….wait" Lohan caught a glimpse of a wingtip navigation light. "_There he is! _Portside 45 degrees and down 45 degrees, Ma'am" he said excitedly. "I'm looking at the bottom side of a Viper!"

Captain Rohs glanced down and saw the bottom of the _FoxViper_. She gently tapped the roll thrusters until the Raptor rolled into the same plane as the FoxViper, then pulled some z-axis thrusters to come windscreen-to-windscreen with the tiny ship.

She pulled up until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with the FoxViper. Behind the armored panes of the Viper's canopy, Rohs could see Robbins anxiously working in the cabin. Robbins looked up and saw Rohs, startled no doubt by the sudden appearance of the Raptor. He put his fingers to his helmet as if he was talking on the landline, then drew his fingers across his throat. The message was clear. His wireless was inop!

Jahlee Rohs then put two fingers towards her eyes and then shrugged her shoulders. "Do you see anything?" she signaled. Robbins held his fist up to indicate for her to hold for a moment then he put his head back down in the cockpit.

Rohs could see the reddish glow of a DRADIS screen on Robbins' faceplate. He obviously let it sweep for only three or four sweeps then shut it off again. He looked back to the Raptor and made eye contact with the freighter captain. He gave Rohs a thumb's up signal, then held his hands as if holding a book. He then "opened the book". Standard hand signal for open the door.

Jahlee acknowledged the message, then gave Sven the all-clear sign. Seconds later, the _FoxViper_ began thrusting backwards from the Raptor. Once she saw the Viper was a safe distance away, Rohs keyed her intercom.

"Sergeant Lohan, you're "go" to depressurize and deploy."

The young warrior let out a sigh of relief. Nothing demoralized a Marine more than setting out on a mission only to be called off at the last second. He released his walk-about harness from the overhead hook but then immediately pulled another hook from the cable reel and snapped it onto his suit's safety loop.

"I'm snapped in and depressurizing, Ma'am." Lohan released the valve to manually dump the cabin pressure and watched the lights over the door. The green "safe" light immediately went yellow. Shortly thereafter it turned red. Seconds later the "Zero Atmosphere" light came on and Sergeant Lohan began opening the door.

It had only been two weeks since he'd last been zero-gee, but it seemed like years. Sometimes life aboard a Battlestar overwhelmed and consumed you. Now facing the prospect of a real shooting war with the Cylons, he felt very, very small in the greater scheme of life. And when he stepped past the door frame to look left and right before stepping out on the wing, he was reminded of just how small he really was! Yet Grant Lohan might only be an enlisted grunt in the Colonial Armed Forces, but he wasn't a creature devoid of a spiritual sense. And in that moment on the wing, Grant Lohan was also a part of the whole of the universe. He couldn't explain it, but for some reason, he was suddenly at peace and felt as though he wasn't alone. Bizarre, he thought, for a man who'd only been in a temple three times since his ascension, and then only for the weddings of friends.

Meanwhile, Bill Johns released his own harness, disconnected his oxygen and communications lines and started to slide out of the right front seat. He took the other safety reel and snapped it onto his own suit. Sergeant Lohan pulled his head back into the cabin and saw Johns moving to get the back of the buoy as they had practiced. "Bill, you ready for this?"

Johns was startled by the wireless call. Most of the ambient noise of the Raptor was attenuated with the helmet on, and the sudden introduction of the sergeant's voice broke that serenity. And if the truth be told, his hearing was a bit too sensitive for the volume level of the wireless. He'd have to have the pre-set adjusted later. Nonetheless, he thought to respond to the inquiry.

"Yeah, I'm fine…Just getting used to moving in the cabin with a pressurized environmental suit" said Johns. But the words went no further than his own ears.

Lohan could see the security man trying to talk but couldn't hear anything. He watched Johns try a couple of more times, but to no avail. He glanced over the young technician's own suit, then spotted the problem. Lohan then reached up over the other man's shoulder and snapped the antenna on Johns' suit to the upright position. When folded, the internal wireless was on stand-by. "Bill…Try again…Say something…"

"Yeah, yeah I got it now. Sorry about that."

"No problem. Just remember to re-stow the antenna when you get back up front or you'll break it off.." Sergeant Lohan had to smirk a little bit. Civilians like Johns were usually the loudest critics of the military, yet all of that academy-level education was useless here in the depths of space. Go figure. But at least Johns seemed to be a level-headed sort…someone who didn't have room for stereotypes.

Lohan turned back to the hatch. "Let's get this thing out of here and get back to the barn, Bill. You got your end?"

Maneuvering in a zero-gee environment suit was hard for Johns. They had to do emergency egress drills on Menno Seven Three from time to time, of course, but no one expected anyone to actually _do _anything in the suits. It was just a means to escape a bad situation until you could be rescued.

Thankfully, Johns felt the reassuring "ka-lump" as his foot touched the deck and he knew the magnetic grippers in the boots worked. Since he only had to get close to the hatch, not actually go through it, he'd be just fine.

Sergeant Lohan, on the other hand, was already standing in the door, ready to take his end of the buoy out the door. "Bill, I'm releasing my boots. Just give me a little shove and I'll clear this hatch without a problem."

"Roger that, Grant. Here we go…" Johns could see the Marine float free of the wing edge and the buoy rose with him. Johns started to brace himself to give a push but forgot he was in zero gravity. The abrupt push caught him and Grant off guard. The Marine's safety reel began to spin out its line towards its full length. Luckily, the spool only held 100 meters of line. In any case, Johns realized what he'd done and hit the "RETARD DEPLOYMENT" button on the reel panel and the line began to drag.

Sergeant Lohan realized that there was going to be a sudden stop when the reel hit the end and he got a sure hold on the buoy. He wasn't disappointed. The line suddenly snapped to a stop with him and the buoy coming to an abrupt stop about 60 meters from the Raptor's post-side hatch, and the buoy almost heading out on it's own thereafter! But Lohan kept his grip, and in a few seconds the oscillations of the line damped down.

Once he was sure that he wasn't going anywhere else, Lohan reached up and opened the control panel. The Marine stroked the keyboard and the "FTL READY" light switched from red to green. Across the annunciator panel the words "ENTER PASSWORD TO INITIATE FTL COUNTDOWN" scrolled. The Marine entered the password and the numbers "180" appeared on the screen. He then hit the "EXECUTE" button and the numbers began counting down.

"Bill…reel me in…Captain, we're 3 minutes to buoy FTL jump." If this suit would grant him any more freedom of movement, he might pat himself on the back for a job well done. But right now all he wanted to do was get back into the Raptor and get home. The one place he _didn't_ want to be was outside the safety of the Raptor's shielding when the buoy's translight vortex opened.

He felt the tug of the reel start to pull him in, but almost just as quickly it stopped. The little bit of inertia that the initial tug had imparted wasn't enough to get him in fast enough. "Hey Bill…what's up, my reel stopped…"

Bill Johns had already started to climb back into his own seat when Sergeant Lohan indicated there was a problem.

"I don't know…I'll take a look, Grant." Johns started to turn about when he immediately saw the problem. The cable had snapped back on itself and created a knot in the cable.

"There's a knot in the cable!" Johns' tone became anxious. "I'll see if I can get it loose!"

There was nothing for him to do for a moment, so the Sergeant took a moment to marvel at the spectacle of the stars around him and the contrast of the Raptor against them. How big, he thought, the Raptor appeared when standing next to it on the hangar deck, yet here in the depth of space, even just a few meters away, it appeared almost insignificant. And it was while he was contemplating that sight that Lohan looked back at the length of cable that connected him to that very same Raptor. He then looked to the aft end of the Raptor and it's idling engines. Then he looked back to the door again. He tried to make a judgment on how far out his cable was compared to the distance from the door to the engine exhausts. Suddenly Sergeant Lohan realized that almost every orifice of his body had puckered up, and there was an unfamiliar pang in the pit of his stomach. He realized that if Captain Rohs tried to thrust forward, he'd be flung back into the engine plume!

"Captain Rohs, what ever you do, _don't thrust forward!_ If you do I'll wind up in the number one engine exhaust!"

Jahlee snapped her head to the left to look out at the dangling sergeant, then up at the remote indicator for the FTL buoy. Ninety seconds to go. "What's happening, Bill…?!?! We've got a minute and a half…!"

Bill Johns was working furiously to undo the knot. But try as he might he just couldn't get his fingers to do what he wanted in the environmental suit. He pulled at one loop then another in a vain attempt to untangle the obstruction in Lohan's safety line, but to no avail. The knot was irretrievably fouled.

"Captain, I can't get the knot out! It's too tight!" Johns' voice was getting louder and panicked.

Rohs looked at the clock. "_Sergeant Lohan!_ Start pulling hand-over-hand! We'll have to slip sideways to get away from the buoy!"

Sixty seconds.

Rohs turned back in her seat and snugged up her seat harness. She quickly energized the positioning thrusters and then gently tapped the stick to the right. The lateral thrusters started moving the Raptor sideways, but as the Raptor responded to her inputs, it pulled the slack cable out of Sergeant Lohan's hands and snapped him back to the far end of the cable. He let loose a vulgarity as he reached the end of the cable, again with a moderately violent jerk.

Forty-five seconds.

Bill Johns could only look out the door in horror. He could see the Marine's face and he could see that he was struggling to get control of the cable again.

The buoy was getting smaller, though. That was good. But with Lohan outside the ship they still needed to be at least a 500 meters away to be safe from the buoy's FTL wake.

Lohan began working hand over hand again, pulling cable back between his legs. Johns could hear Lohan's breathing becoming more labored over the wireless.

Thirty seconds.

Rohs turned on her object avoidance DRADIS. She let it sweep 3 times. The buoy was two hundred fifty meters away. She would have to move faster. "_SERGEANT_! I'm thrusting starboard again! _HANG ON_!" she barked.

Johns saw the Marine cinch up the slack of the cable around his left arm as the thrusters nudged the Raptor sideways again. Again, the cable took tension. As it did, Lohan lost his grip on the running end of the cable and the loops around his arm pulled tight. In that second, Lohan's arm was broken. The pain was instantaneous and searing. He knew he was in trouble as his view of the Raptor began to glaze over. The pain was horrific and he wanted to let every being within 100 light years know it, but his training forced it down.

"_FRAK that hurts_!" was all he could grunt out. The pain worsened by the second and it was taking his breath, but he knew if he were to survive this, it would be because he didn't panic.

Fifteen seconds.

Rohs re-cycled her side-looking DRADIS again. Four hundred meters.

"_HANG ON!"_ warned the captain again. Rohs tapped the control stick to starboard one more time. The gentle nudge was enough to push Bill Johns against the door jam, almost putting _him_ out the door. Just as he regained his balance, he looked out the door. He could see Sergeant Lohan at the end of the tether. Just a few meters away was Sven Robbins' _FoxViper _keeping pace with the Raptor. Sven apparently realized what was happening and placed the FoxViper between the stranded Marine and the buoy in the distance. Good for him!

Captain Rohs looked up at the annunciator panel.

"Buoy should be going in…Three…two…one…_NOW_!"

Bill Johns saw a flash in the distance. The buoy's translight vortex opened and the buoy was gone. He looked to the end of the cable. "Sergeant, can you make it back?" His tone was anxious. He waited but there was no answer.

He looked outside the door again and the Marine wasn't moving. "_GRANT…?!?!"_

Johns strained to get a look at the Marine's motionless body. The bio-sign indicators showed that he was alive, but obviously something was very, _very_ wrong.

Johns put one foot up on the door frame and one steady on the floor and began pulling. He then noticed that Sven's Viper was coming in closer. Then closer still. Then just as it appeared as if the forward intake might swallow the man on the tether, Sven Robbins used the nose of the Viper to gently push Lohan towards the door of the Raptor.

Lohan's motionless body bounced against the side of the Raptor, but not hard. Bill Johns began hauling in the line end-over-end, gradually pulling in all of the slack line and getting Lohan to the edge of the hatch. Johns then gave himself five or six feet of slack on his own safety reel line and did something he thought he could never do…He stepped out of the door of a spaceborne Raptor. He grabbed Lohan's un-wrapped arm and pulled him into the ship. The zero-gee boots grabbed the plating under his feet with each step and he could feel the reassuring connection with each movement of his feet. Finally, Lohan's arms were close enough for the technician to pull him all the way in the door. As he got the Marine's feet inside the Raptor, Johns carefully placed the injured Marine in the cabin, then reached over and hit the "DOOR CLOSED" switch.

"_HE'S IN! HE'S IN!_" Johns was elated. "Let's get the frak out of here!"

Jahlee Rohs dropped her head for a second. She wanted to lift the visor and wipe the tears out of her eyes, but they were still at zero atmosphere. She looked out of the windshield at the Viper hovering only a few feet away. Sven Robbins gave her a thumbs up and then the _FoxViper_ began thrusting away.

Time to head for the barn.

NINE

Captain Rohs watched as Sven Robbins initiated his FTL jump. It was a rare moment that she was close enough to another vessel to watch it vanish into it's own translight vortex. Of course she'd seen it dozens of times while she had been a Colonial Forces pilot, but that was over a decade ago. Most cargo ships were never this close to another ship when they went FTL.

As Captain Rohs readied Raptor -4YJ for it's own FTL return to Menno Seven Three, Bill Johns re-pressurized the cabin. As soon as the cabin pressure indicator went green on the annunciator panel, he unlocked Sergeant Grant Lohan's helmet and twisted it off of the Marine's environment suit. Lohan was still semi-conscious, but considering what had just happened it was probably a good thing.

Johns now worked to untangle the safety-reel cable that was around Lohan's left arm. Johns could tell the Marine's arm was broken, even through the bulky environment suit. That the wire hadn't cut through the suit was a minor miracle…no…it was a _major_ miracle!

"How's he doing, Bill?" Rohs was still upset that Lohan had almost been killed on this seemingly simple operation.

Johns flipped the protective cover off of Lohan's bio read-outs to see all was relatively well…"He's probably in shock, Captain. His left arm is definitely broke but his suit is intact. How he avoided ripping his suit is beyond me."

Rohs let out a sigh of relief. It was hard to believe that something as simple as a knot in a cable almost cost a man his life.

"Alright…alright…get him and yourself strapped in, we need to bug out. The FTL is spinning up and we're out of here in thirty seconds."

Johns closed the bio readout cover on Lohan's suit and then switched off the Marine's magnetic boots. He slid Lohan into the aft seat and then pulled the safety harness across his chest. Not wishing to waste any more time, he got himself into the EWO's seat and fastened his own belt. "Ready for FTL, Captain."

Captain Rohs scanned the board and then once again lifted the safety cover on the FTL control…"Here we go in three…two…one…JUMP!"

Just as Rohs initiated the jump, Johns saw something on the aft-cabin's DRADIS screen. The words "DRADIS CONTACT" flickered across the top of the monitor. But before a lock-on could be verified or displayed, the Raptor passed into the FTL vortex and was gone. Maybe it was something, maybe it wasn't. Whatever it was, they left it behind.

As the Raptor entered its own translight vortex, Johns had one hand on Sergeant Lohan to steady him in the seat next to him. For the brief two or three seconds that they were actually in the vortex, Johns thought his arm was a light year in length. Perhaps it was. He actually lost sight of Lohan even though he could still sense that he was indeed holding the Marine upright in the seat.

Just as quickly, though, they were back in regular space. Lohan was still slumped in his seat, but they were back in regular space.

As they came out of translight, Rohs could see Menno Seven Three ahead of her and Sven Robbins' Viper half way between her and the asteroid. She thumbed the wireless switch and called in her arrival. "_Menno Seven Three, Raptor 4 Yankee Juliett is out of translight. Tally-ho on Viper 8 Yankee Zulu, and be advised he's NOCOM. Have medical team standing by…We've got a man with a broken arm…"_

As Jahlee Rohs finished her wireless call, everyone in the operations office took a deep breath. Samantha O'byea, Alastair Kohn, Don O'Banion, Senior Chief Teague and Gunner Kells were gathered around the wireless console and it's young operator. The Raptor had taken a couple of minutes longer to get home than the Viper did, and each second was like an hour to everyone in the center. At least both ships were home.

Gunner Kells tapped the communications specialist on the shoulder. "Give me three sweeps on DRADIS. Make sure they weren't followed home." The man at the console did as directed and they could hear the tell-tale swish sound of the DRADIS as it searched for any possible intruders.

"I'm only tracking Raptor -4YJ and Viper -8YZ, Sir. No other contacts."

Each member of the group finally let go a little yip and hands were being shaken all around the circle. Alastair Kohn turned to the technician at the Bay Operations panel. "Open bay four and prepare to receive incoming Raptor and Viper!" He then picked up the blue colored telephone cradled next to the communications console. "Dr. Sayid…We need medics at Bay 4, please…". The relief was palpable.

Sven Robbins was first in. He secured both the FTL and sublight engines before heading towards the bay. He tapped the roll thrusters to match Menno's gentle spin then maneuvered the _FoxViper_ into the spot it had left less than an hour ago. He tapped the thrusters one more time to make skid contact with the bay and then quickly hit the mag-locks in the skids to keep the Viper in position on the deck.

As the canopy on the Viper started to open he looked over his right shoulder to see Jahlee Rohs perform the same roll maneuver he had and then enter the bay. Just as he had with the Viper, she gently tapped thrusters to position the Raptor on the deck.

Although the bay was depressurized, Robbins could feel the "thump" of Rohs' Raptor touching the deck through the vibrations transmitted through the deck and landing gear. As she slid into the spot, the massive bay doors began to slide shut behind them. When they came closed, they could hear the in-rush of air as the bay was re-pressurized.

A moment later the hatch leading off the deck swung open and Plane Captain Jennie Yoder and the two Anderson brothers ran out on the deck with the landing gear safety pins. They made a mad dash around both birds placing the safety pins in their respective slots. Yoder then grabbed the portable boarding ladder and pushed it over to Robbins.

"Welcome home, Mr. Robbins!"

He never considered Menno Seven Three to be home, but for now Robbins was more than happy to call it that.

As the burly security chief began to de-plane from the Viper, he watched as the medics entered the bay with a stretcher and gently extricated Sergeant Lohan from the Raptor. Robbins had worried all the way back to Menno that his efforts to get Lohan back into the Raptor may have caused more injury that it prevented. But then he had been in a front row seat to the events leading up to the FTL buoy jump and knew that had he not gotten the Marine out of the danger zone he might have been caught in the buoy's wake…Then it would have meant having to follow the buoy if they wanted to recover the body. No one had ever survived such an evolution and there was no reason to believe that Lohan would have been any different.

As the medics carried Sergeant Lohan through the hatch, they stopped for a moment for Gunner Kells to lay hands upon the unconscious Marine and to whisper words of encouragement to him. Maybe he'd hear it, maybe he wouldn't, the Gunner thought, but anything to expedite his recovery was time well spent.

As he entered the bay he called upon his best "addressing the troops" voice. "Alright, everyone. Great job! Everyone meet in operations in thirty minutes for de-brief!" From across the bay he could see Jahlee Rohs and his old friend give him a thumb's up. He was glad to see them all home.

TEN

Specialist Kevin Payge entered the operations office with two discs in hand. As soon as the Raptor and Viper landed he had pulled the memory chips for the mission cameras on each and loaded them to video discs for the debriefing. He handed them to Alyssya Teague and then took a seat in the back row. Senior Chief Teague then loaded up the discs as everyone took their seats in the ready room.

Gunner Kells took the dais. "OK everyone, let's get this rolling…Sven, we'll start off with you. How'd it go?"

Robbins stood up at his seat and turned to the seated staff. "We'll, other than my wireless going toes-up right out of translight, it went real well. As soon as I came out of translight I made a three-sweep check on DRADIS and came up empty. I then did a 360 x 360 eyeball roll just to make sure there wasn't anything that might be powered down and not showing up in the scans. That's when the Raptor showed up. I made another DRADIS sweep and I gave Jahlee the go-ahead to open up."

Captain Rohs sat in the front row slowly nodding in agreement with the Security Chief's comments.

"Just after Sergeant Lohan exited the Raptor, I could see the safety spool backlash. I'm guessing that it was on free-reel because he came out pretty quick and there was a snap at the end. It was no small feat that he didn't lose his grip on the buoy before he activated the FTL."

He turned to the freighter captain. "Jahlee, that was smooth lateral action to get him away from the buoy. If you'd gone forward at all, all you would have pulled in was a scorched rope."

Captain Rohs turned a bit pale. She knew how close they'd come to losing him. "I know.." she said. "But so did Sergeant Lohan. He saw that and warned me. Good thing, too, because I was ready to bump it forwards to get out of the buoy's wake. There was enough line out for him to get caught close-aboard."

Bill Johns was listening to the comments and couldn't help but wonder what, if anything, that he had done had contributed to the incident and the near-tragedy. "I can't help but think this was my fault," he said sheepishly. "When he was ready to deploy with the buoy I gave him a hard push. I guess I don't know my own strength in zero-gee. I should have been quicker on the friction lock."

Sven shook his head. "Forget it, Bill. You did the right thing getting the friction lock set and pulling him in…Not to mention I saw you out on the wing. You saved his life." Bill Johns just hung his head for a moment.

"Well folks, we have twenty two hours until we retrieve the buoy." Kells took a deep breath and gave everyone else in the room time to do the same. "Anyone have anything they want to add?"

"How about the Sergeant?" Captain Rohs was anxious to know that he was alright. He had been her responsibility. Her timing couldn't have been any better as Dr Sayid entered the ready room at that moment.

"Did someone call for the doctor?" His entrance surprised most but his jovial presence put all at ease immediately.

"You needn't worry about Sergeant Lohan, Captain." His accented Piconian was heavy but quite pleasant. "The break was across his humerous and quite easy to repair. Bio-bonding should be complete in 24 hours. He'll be back to full duty in a couple of days." The doctor slid across the room and took a seat along the wall. William Johns and Captain Rohs both let sighs loose that could probably be heard back on Aerilon.

Sven Robbins then turned to Dewayne Kells. "Okay, Buddy, your EVA guy is out of the picture for the retrieval. So what now?"

There was a brief pause. "I'll do it." Bill Johns let the words go before he even realized that he was the one saying them. "I'll do it." he said again as if to re-assure everyone that it really was him saying it. Maybe the experience had emboldened him, or maybe he just felt a need to atone for the injuries that Sergeant Lohan had incurred. It wasn't his fault that the reel had backlashed, but he still felt responsible somehow. In any case, he felt as though he needed to prove that he could do it.

Robbins turned to look over his shoulder at his engineer. "Bill, you did a great job on the deployment, but we need a good EVA person to get that thing back in, even under ideal conditions. I got no problem letting you fly as the inside guy again, but we need a freefall qualified person on the line." Robbins saw that Johns started to protest his supervisor's disapproval, but then he thought better of it. Maybe just the bravado of offering to do it was enough.

At that point Alyssya Teague raised her hand. "I have an alternative to putting the daggit on a leash here…." All heads turned to the Senior Chief. "The DRADIS picket Raptor in the hangar has a remote arm on it. I'll have that bird ready to fly before we're ready to go get the buoy tomorrow!"

"Why didn't you tell us that the other bird had an arm on it, Chief?" Gunner Kells was both relieved but somewhat frustrated that Sergeant Lohan had to get injured in the process.

"I didn't know we had it until we had an opportunity to thoroughly inspect the other ships, Skipper. We were so focused on getting the BeeCee birds flight ready to fly so all of our attention was on them. After we got those birds ready we hit the Viper next. It wasn't until we got to the next Raptor that I knew we had a plane with an external arm on it." She took a deep breath. She thought to remind them that there were only 11 deckhands for six planes and that they'd only been here five days now, but she didn't want to seem to be making excuses. "But the other good news is that Specialist Payge has already op-checked it and it's 100 percent."

Gunner Kells turned to Johns. "Bill…can you operate that remote arm?"

The engineer snapped his head up with an ear-to-ear grin. "Yes Sir! Just like a video game. Just get me there!"

ELEVEN

Translight buoy TLB-MNO-073/02 entered orbit around Aerilon as programmed. It's internal sensors immediately determined which way was magnetic north and where it was relative to the daylight terminator. The onboard receivers began looking for the _OPRANS_, or Orbital Position Reporting And Navigation Satellites, in order to get an exact fix on where it was relative to the landmass below. Only two weak signals were to be heard, however, and the computer discarded both of them as too unreliable to make a certain determination. If the buoy was to return to an exact point, it had to depart from an exact point. And if it were to take pictures of exact landmarks, it had to know where it was relative to them. With the OPRANS birds unreliable, the buoy's AI was going to have to depend on good, old fashioned, seat-of-the-pants dead reckoning. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.

The buoy's AI, or Artificial Intelligence, then began turning the tiny ship slowly until it could locate three known stars that would allow it to make an exact celestial fix. Even for an AI computer it was a labor intensive subroutine. However it soon fixed the plots and began to re-position the buoy to go to the pre-set sites and begin its programmed mission.

It took three hours for the buoy to get over Spaceport City. The buoy slowly rotated in the coldness of space until its camera ports were looking down upon the planet's surface. Once the cameras came to bear the AI started snapping pictures. As the camera did its work, sensors and antennas deployed from the probe and began to listen for any signals from the surface, other ships or any commercial broadcasters. Any signals or signs of life at all would be recorded.

If the AI had been programmed for emotion it would have been dismayed at the unrelenting static in it's receiver and the devastation that appeared in the camera lens. One, two, three orbits and all the AI had recorded were pictures. Not a single wireless or video signal was to be found.

The welcoming blue-green surface that Captain Rohs had been coveting only a few days before was now nearly invisible to the naked eye. The cloud layers had thickened to 70% over the whole planet, no doubt the result of billions of metric tons of what used to be human civilization now blasted into the stratosphere. The radiation sensors on the buoy were pegged to their maximums. Whatever and whomever might still be alive down there would be dead before the week was out, if anything had survived at all. Even those who might have made it safely into any one of the Ministry of Defense bunkers located throughout the planet would either suffocate or starve within ninety days.

But then the AI wouldn't know or appreciate that. All it knew was that there wasn't anything transmitting now, and that was all it needed to know.

The buoy made a total of twenty orbits and then began to reorient itself. Aerilon's moon, Azur'a, had several colonies and defense outposts on it. It was time to see if the neighbors were home.

Normally the buoy would initiate an ion engine burn to change orbit, however the team on Menno had thought better of it and programmed the probe for an FTL jump even though it was less than three light-seconds away. Even in high radiation environments an organized ion trail would set off sensors on even the most insensitive scanners. No use inviting trouble. The FTL vortex would be seen too, but by the time anyone could react, the buoy would be gone.

The buoy vanished from it's orbit above Aerilon and arrived at Azur'a directly over Carter City, it's exact location now known to the AI since it got it's star-fix earlier. As it had over Aerilon, the probe slowly turned its camera face to the surface and began snapping pictures. Its radiation sensors and wireless antennas deployed and began their search. And as it had over Aerilon, the buoy emotionlessly recorded what it saw and heard.

The cameras clicked away. Carter City. Azur'a Science Station. The Colonial Fleet DRADIS station. Ballard Valley Colony. Only craters and dust remained where once thousands of people had lived and worked. And although it was too thin to support life, Azur'a had a very thin atmosphere of it's own.

The emphasis being on _had_ an atmosphere. There had been at least eight nuclear weapons dropped here. That was enough to dislodge the vapor-thin atmosphere.

The buoy continued on with it's silent mission, making five more orbits of Azur'a. Each time it came around, the buoy would scan for any trace of electronic evidence from the now-lifeless moon that someone had survived.

With each succeeding orbit the clock was running. It had started at 24 hours. It was now down to minutes. At three minutes remaining, the FTL drive began to initiate and spool up.

Thirty seconds to go and the sensors made a last chance sweep.

Nothing.

There was no countdown as it's human masters would recognize. There was no need for the drama and suspense. The clock simply reached "zero" and the AI did as it was programmed. The FTL reached it's peak and opened the translight vortex. Time to carry it's payload of information back to the source.

Exactly as programmed, TLB-MNO-073/02 arrived at the coordinate the Colonials had launched it from, a full light year on the far side of Aerilon. It was a dark, barren bit of space bordered by the edge of a rogue asteroid floe. The light from the Aerilonian sun was but a reference point in a scanner now.

Had the AI been sentient, it might have contemplated the irony that the light it was seeing now from Helios Aerilonia had fallen across a vibrant, thriving world full of hope, promise and prosperity. It's receivers would hear news reports of a year ago. Ball games…business reports…a hundred different formats of music…A world, that in reality, was now a lifeless corpse.

As the FTL drive started to re-set itself, the buoy's onboard collision avoidance system flagged. The AI immediately took notice and began to determine where the potential threat was and whether it was going to be necessary to activate it's thrusters to yield right-of-way or if this would be a close call. The AI didn't care what the object was. It only cared that a collision may be imminent and it was programmed to avoid being damaged or causing damage.

The term close call was relative, too. FTL buoys were programmed to recognize any object moving in its general direction within 5000 kilometers and to give notice of its presence via its transponder. However in this case the transponder had been turned off manually therefore the AI couldn't use it. The AI listened for it's own recognition code but the approaching object wasn't sending it. The AI then reverted to its secondary programming, and that was to get out of the way.

The AI could do a lot of things, but second guessing the actions of other objects in space wasn't one of them. So when the conflicting object it was tracking ceased being a threat, well, that was OK by the AI. The object, whatever it had been, stopped, then slowly drifted back out of range. Now there was nothing to do. And so it was with this threat. For whatever reason, the offending target maintained it's distance.

Too bad that no one had thought to program the buoy to let it's masters know of these things. It might have been useful to know.

TWELVE

Only minutes after TLB-MNO-073/02 arrived in deep space, _FoxViper_ 918YZ arrived one kilometer away. The collision avoidance program in the buoy immediately recognized the tiny fighter, however, and simply awaited further instructions.

In the Viper, Sven Robbins scanned the board and immediately brought his DRADIS on line. One…two…three active sweeps but no contacts. He switched back to passive and allowed himself to relax a bit. He gently pulled back on the control stick to pitch up while stepping on the left rudder pedal and executed another 360-by-360 roll. One or two more flights and he'd have this maneuver aced. DRADIS was a wonderful technology, however sometimes it took a plain old Mark One Eyeball to look around and see if there was anything around you that might complicate your day.

He looked around carefully. Two, maybe three thousand kilometers away was the edge of an asteroid floe, but nothing appeared any different than it had when they had deployed the buoy here 24 hours ago.

Just as he rolled back to eyes-on with the probe his wireless came alive. "Raptor 1-2-1-5 Sierra Bravo…". Sven recognized Captain Rohs' voice and could hear the anxiousness in her tone.

He double checked his wireless panel and made sure he was on as low a transmitter power setting as was necessary and keyed his own wireless. "Looks like we're clear, Jahlee. Three scans and visual look good."

On board the Raptor Jahlee Rohs let go a deep breath. She had to admit that she'd been holding that one in since she initiated the FTL jump off of Menno Seven Three.

"OK Sven…I've got the buoy visual and thrusting forward." In a concert of moves, Jahlee re-cycled the Raptor's FTL while at the same time gently moving towards the buoy. She could have activated her collision avoidance DRADIS to bore-site the probe, but she could see it clearly so why jeopardize giving their position away by activating the transmitter?

"Bill…you ready?" Jahlee looked back over her shoulder at Bill Johns who was sitting in the EWO's position which was where the remote control arm was operated from. She reached down and flipped a switch on the central panel. "You've got the helm." She said nervously. Johns leaned into the scope shield and looked for the probe in the video monitor.

"Yeah..I see it. Five hundred meters and closing. " Johns had his right hand in the arm control actuator. Using the controller was a lot like sliding your arm into a large glove. Like a human hand, the remote arm had five "fingers" on it, and they could perform some very fine maneuvers. In this case all he had to do is capture the buoy and snug it up against the Raptor's hull. It also allowed him to make minor position changes so they could close on the buoy.

"Two hundred fifty meters….Easy….We're on top of it…." Rohs was impressed. Johns was on top of his game in the EWO seat. "Fifty meters…twenty-five…Ten…"

Johns' hand pushed the controller forward slowly. He watched the arm move forward and the "fingers" of the arm approach the buoy. One meter away, he gently spread his fingers in the controller and the remote hand responded in kind.

"_A-l-m-o-s-t t-h-e-r-e…" _Johns softly whispered encouragement to himself.

"_DRADIS CONTACT! "Bearing zero zero seven carem three five niner! CBDR!" _Sven Robbins' call was an unwelcome tension-breaker for more than one reason. Johns jerked his hand back and the remote arm came with it. Luckily he didn't stick his arm forward or he would have sent the buoy tumbling…Or worse yet, destroyed it.

"_I don't see it, Sven! How far_…?!?!" Rohs began instinctively snapping the weapons arming switches out of the "safe" positions and armed the two cannons on the Raptor. The two safety lights immediately switched from green "WEAPONS SAFE" to bright red "WEAPONS ARMED".

"Two thousand and closing! No Colonial transponders! Grab that frakkin' buoy and let's get the frak out of here!" Rohs could see the Viper roll over "backwards" relative to her nose and the main engines thrust forward.

"_Bill…we've got company_!"

Nothing like pressure. Johns tried to reclaim his composure and put his head back into the arm monitor. His own hand was trembling now, however, as he couldn't help but be afraid of the approaching threat. The remote arm appeared to be having a seizure from his own shaking.

Captain Rohs reached down and switched her scanner from passive to active and as soon as she did she saw the target right where Sven said it was. Only now the DRADIS was calling it "ENEMY FIGHTER". So much for hoping this was just a wayward asteroid or other space debris.

"Bill…we've got thirty seconds and then we're outta here…_GRAB that damned thing_!"

The engineer was having a hard enough time concentrating…the extra encouragement from up front wasn't helping. Nonetheless he kept his focus on the buoy ahead.

Meanwhile, Sven Robbins was busy himself. As far as he could tell, there was only one bogey inbound, but that was unusual for Cylons who usually patrolled in units of three. He switched up the power to get a finer target resolution, yet it still showed only one target.

It had been a decade since he'd engaged a target in space, and even then that target was only shooting simulated pulse signals at him. There really hadn't been much pressure to avoid getting hit, but he had managed to "splash" the opponent. Speed and "first shot" would be important. He activated his own weapons and kept the on-coming target centered.

As he closed on the approaching fighter the crosshairs of his DRADIS suddenly switched from red to green. Robbins pressed the FIRE button and the kinetic weapons cannons began firing. In the vacuum of space there was no "bang" to be heard, but the rapid staccato pulsing of the cannons could be felt through the fuselage of the Viper. He watched as the DRADIS markers showed the path of his rounds as they crossed the nose of the approaching Cylon Raider.

Suddenly he could see it…The tell-tale red "eye" of the Raider. He'd never seen a real one in battle, of course, but there it was. But why was this one not wavering? Robbins was firing directly into the center hull of the Raider yet the Cylon never appeared to avoid the onslaught or try to return fire.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the Raider disintegrated in a flash of debris, fuel and what ever small amount of oxygen the Raider held.

Robbins couldn't believe his luck…That was too…

Before he could even think the word "easy", his DRADIS popped in two new targets.

"_JAHLEE! Two more bogeys! One on the same course as the one I just splashed but the other one is three zero one carem zero zero one…He's below you closing! Both are two thousand CBDR!"_

That was not what Bill Johns wanted to hear, but it didn't matter. The fingers of the remote arm were in the grapple port of the buoy. He started to pull the buoy towards the Raptor. "I've got it, Jahlee! I've got it! It'll be nested in ten seconds!"

"It better be! FTL spin-up complete…_SVEN! Let's get out of here!_" Jahlee Rohs switched the flight controls back to her command and started to roll the Raptor back into position relative to Sven's ship.

Sven Robbins couldn't agree more, but his FTL was still two minutes from being ready. He could see the red eye of the approaching Raider, but this time it was the bad guy who got the first rounds off. Sven stomped on the right rudder pedal to roll out of the line of fire and then initiated a forceful pitch-up. He looked back over his right shoulder and saw the Raider's rounds pass below and behind him. But the Raider wasn't going to be satisfied with having got a few rounds off at this stray Viper.

The Raider broke left and executed his own pitch over maneuver, only in the negative axis to the _FoxViper_. Sven saw what he was doing…It would bring them nose-to-nose again. That was not a position he wanted to be in. Sven stopped his pitch-over and took a quick look around. The asteroid floe was only 1000 kilometers away. "_Jahlee, I'm still 90 away from FTL jump. Go to Bingo One then head for home if your six is clear_!

Captain Rohs froze for a second. Her first thought was to go after the Raider that was approaching to give Sven a chance to bug out, but then she realized that he was now three thousands clicks out and the other Raider was only seconds away from being able to put rounds on her.

"I'm FTL hot, Sven…See you at Bingo One!"

Sven entered the asteroid field as Jahlee announced her intentions. "_DON'T WAIT FOR ME, JAHLEE! _As soon as you hit Bingo One, if it's clear, you head for home, otherwise follow the plan!"

Jahlee could see the flashes of Cylon rounds striking the asteroids in the distance. Suddenly there were rounds passing in front of her own windscreen and she realized that now was the time to be getting out of here. No count-down, she punched the FTL key and the Raptor's translight vortex opened. She was gone.

Robbins, on the other hand, had his hands full. The second Raider was still close aboard and only the chaotic jumble of bits of asteroid saved his bacon from the explosive rounds the Cylon was sending his way.

Sven saw an asteroid that was at least 100 meters long and very irregular appearing ahead of him. He abruptly stood on the reverse-thrusters and began a simultaneous roll to his left. The Viper came to a near-dead stop. Robbins then moved his hands from the throttle grip to the collective thruster handle and tweaked the positive-zee axis thrusters that pushed the Viper flat against the tumbling asteroid.

He glanced to the heads-up display. Thirty seconds until FTL ready. The clock on the heads-up display was running down quickly, yet before he could jump he'd have to be clear of the asteroid belt. Just as he thought the words, the Raider flew past him, dodging other debris in the field.

As the Raider passed by, Sven thought about coming about on the Cylon's tail and scoring a kill from behind, but then he thought better of it. Best to get out of here clean and come back another day. Somehow he knew there'd be plenty of Cylons to play with later.

Fifteen seconds. Robbins reached down to the FTL control panel and entered "WAYPOINT 1". He bumped the stick forward and cleared the edge of the rock that he was clinging to. His DRADIS was back on passive so Mr. Badguy didn't have a signal to home back on. He watched as the Raider kept going through the field as he cleared the edge of the floe.

Just as he thought he was home free, Sven saw the third Raider approaching. Even though it was just out of range, it was still a frightening sight. Without ceremony, Robbins activated the FTL key as the Cylon's guns came to bear.

The Viper was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

_A World Unto Itself_

Chapter One

If anyone were to take Bill Johns and Jahlee Rohs' pulses as they came out of translight, they would have rushed them to the hospital. Jahlee worse of all. The Cylon rounds passing in front of the windscreen had been almost too much to bear and were definitely too close. The events on Aerilon of a week ago notwithstanding, the nearest detonation had been almost 100 clicks away…These rounds passed within less than 100_ meters._

The postlight board was green and Jahlee immediately re-started the FTL clock for the next jump. As Sven had done at the buoy site, she did a full roll to look all around her. Wherever they were, they were near a large asteroid with an atmosphere and within spitting distance of a yellow star. She ought to know this place but it wasn't immediately familiar. Passive DRADIS showed clear, but then it had shown clear just minutes ago to!

"Bill…you alright back there?" She looked over her shoulder to see Johns sitting upright, both arms straight out in front of him, holding on for dear life.

Bill contemplated his answer. He wanted to say "_No, I'm NOT frakkin' alright!"_, but Jahlee didn't deserve to have that dropped in her lap. Dummy him, he'd volunteered. At least they made it out of the fight in one piece. He took a deep breath, let it out, then took yet another. "Yeah…yeah, I think all the pieces are where they're supposed to be, but we need to go and get my wits back…I just got them scared the frak out of me back there!"

Jahlee wasn't going to argue that. She'd gone all her adult life without so much as a second thought about what the Cylon wars must have been like or what the consequences of another one might be. Yet here she'd been, toe-to-toe with them twice in the last 7 days. She just hoped that this was all worth it.

"Five minutes to FTL re-spool, Bill. They put these way points in back at Menno so let me see where we are…"

Jahlee flipped up the FTL control panel cover. The display simply said "WAYPOINT 1" She switched the display from "WPT NR" to "NOUN" and hit the refresh button. The display went blank for a few seconds then recycled:

"HARLOWS WORLD"

At just that moment, _FoxViper_ 918YZ appeared about a half click off the bow of the Raptor and began a slow roll. As the nose of the Viper came to bear on the Raptor it slowly rolled wing's level and the wireless came active. "Well hello there, stranger…Come here often?"

Jahlee Rohs just stared for a second but then had to laugh. Thirty seconds ago this guy was in the fight for his life, and now he's cutting bad bar jokes.

"Yeah, every payday-night…How about you, Big Boy?"

"It's been a while but the bartender knows me and I can get your drinks half price…" Sven tried to keep his demeanor controlled, but truth be known he was about three seconds shy of needing to change his environment suit. "By the way, where exactly are we?"

Jahlee looked back at her panel and keyed the wireless again. "My FTL says "Harlow's World"…Why'd they bring us here, do ya think?"

Had Captain Rohs been any closer to Sven's Viper she would have seen his jaw drop.

_KELLS! _Sven knew in an instant that their arrival here was no accident or random occurrence. Only _he_ would have the sense of irony to program Harlow's World as a bug-out waypoint!

"Harlow's World was to the Colonies what Armistice Station is to the Colonies and the Cylons, Jahlee. But after the Colonies finally settled their own rifts it became a tariff-free trade station. The only weapons allowed on the surface are the sidearms carried by the shore patrol and local police." Kells paused lest he let Jahlee know just exactly how and why he knew that. "If there are any other survivors inside the Perimeter, they'd be here. Kells' must've had a hunch."

Just then Bill Johns spoke up from the EWO station in the Raptor…"Captain Rohs…There's a red light flashing back here. It says "GUARD REC WARN". Is that something we need to be worried about?"

"_SVEN…activate your guard receiver!" _Jahlee then dashed her fingers over her own wireless control and pushed the button labeled "DISTRESS". A new voice came across the earphones in her helmet.

"_This is Harlow Approach Control transmitting in the blind. Harlow's World has been attacked. The city is gone and we're on emergency power. Can anyone hear us? We've lost contact with the Colonial network. Is anyone out there? This is Harlow approach listening on Distress Primary. Can anyone hear us?"_

Robbins hung his head as if he'd just been 'told ya so', and he was glad no one could see the silly grin on his face. His immediate instinct was to reply to the call. The voice sounded like that of a man at the end of his rope, tired, scared and abandoned. Under the circumstances, however he thought better of it and clicked back over to the channel he and the Raptor had been operating on. "Jahlee, don't reply just yet. Stay put…I'm going to make a recon pass and see what it looks like. I know this place. We need to make sure this isn't a trap! Stay on this channel and I will go take a look…In any case, if you don't hear from me in 15 minutes, you bug out and don't come back!"

"Wait Sven! We should go together..!"

"No, Jahlee, stay put!…If they see one ship, they might think I'm just a straggler…But if they see a flight of two they'll assume an organized force is near-by and come after us in-force…No use tipping our hand. Besides, you need to get that buoy back to Kells."

Jahlee pulled her hand back from the sublight throttles and sat back frustrated. He was right, of course, and the prospect of being in the middle of yet another bombing or firefight didn't sit well with her anyway. This time, discretion would win out over impulse.

Robbins' Viper pitched up and rolled off to Jahlee's right, headed towards the asteroid. It was only a few hundred clicks away so at the most Sven should be able to wireless back an all-clear or a warning within minutes.

Jahlee Rohs didn't like sitting and waiting, but under the circumstances, she had no choice.

TWO

Sven Robbins watched as he cleared the Raptor and pointed the nose of the Viper towards the slowly spinning asteroid ahead of him. The approach to Harlow's World was always a bit peculiar since it was so small. The visual cues were, in a word, screwy.

There was much debate as to whether Harlow's World was a large asteroid or a small planetoid, but it didn't much matter. It had the right combination of oxygen, water, gasses and position in orbit, and right now that was enough.

As Robbins approached the asteroid he scanned for any ships in orbit. Harlow's World was an active trade station, however advances in FTL technology had slowed business in the last few years. If there were any ships near-by, he didn't see them. He switched DRADIS on and allowed it to make several scans before securing it again. Only the geo-synchronous satellites were there and there were only four of those.

Sven tried to remember some of the other details of the unique world below him. To be truthful he'd hardly ever traveled beyond the city limits and then only once to spend a picnic afternoon with a barmaid he'd wooed briefly years ago. Like most fleet types, he knew six square blocks of downtown real well, but little else.

The council on Harlow's World kept a very strict control on the full-time population as well as visitors. Afterall, a rock this small could only take so much environmental impact at once. Even shore leaves were strictly controlled. Once the rental rooms in the city were filled, that was it.

If he remembered right, no more than 200,000 people were allowed on surface at any time, and that included the 30,000 permanent residents who ran the businesses there. Even retiree villas were strictly controlled. Most of the permanent homes were willed from generation-to-generation and of no surprise to anyone, most of them were in the Harlow family name. Anyone looking to retire to Harlow's World would more-than-likely die before a property became available.

Sven rolled wings-level with the horizon and activated his GABS approach. With an atmosphere as thin as this one, no use burning a hole in it with a standard approach.

As he descended below the clouds much of the countryside appeared "normal". Normal, that is, until he got within a couple of clicks of Mah'lydee Point. As he approached the ridge he could see the tell-tale smoldering of a weapon's blast crater. Strangely, he could see that the trees were scorched on the far side of the ridge but still green on the side close to him. Across the ridge would be Colonial Forces Station Mah'lydee which sat in a small depression that was probably an old crater itself. It wasn't so much a "base" as it was a refueling station and administrative liaison for Colonial Forces on Harlow's World. It was also the local Shore Patrol brig. THAT he knew all to well.

What he found as he crossed the ridge was horrifying. The weapon that had been dropped here must have detonated below the ridgeline. The entire valley was blasted out and was, quite literally, a "smoking hole". He could see where the blast force had traveled back along the valley road leading towards Harlow City. It must have been a relatively low-yield weapon, though, as the blast damage was pretty much limited to the area inside the valley and the first click down the right-of-way of the road.

Sven continued over the ridge and above the valley road towards Harlow City. The road went up over yet another rise, and as it did the scenery returned to relative "normalcy". Normal, that was, until he got to the city limits. Three-fourth's of the asteroid's residents were in the city, and from what Sven could see, nothing was recognizable. Again, whatever the Cylons dropped here was low-yield and detonated at low altitude.

They obviously wanted to keep the damage here to a minimum, but why? Cylons were robots. Why would they be environmentally motivated when nuking humans…?!?!

Robbins made a slow circle around the city. Other than recognizing some of the peaks in the distance, there was nothing below to orient him as to where anything he knew still existed.

The night clubs…The shops…the parks…all gone.

Sven rolled out on a southerly heading and headed towards the spaceport. It was only 10 clicks away and was linked to the city by a monorail system. Robbins was ready for what he was sure would be more of the same devastation he'd just seen. But as he crested yet another ridgeline, what he saw astounded him. There was the spaceport in almost perfect condition! Many of the buildings on the spaceport were destroyed, but by conventional weapons, not nukes! The refueling station was intact as were most of the landing pads.

What ever the Cylons intentions had been for the people of Harlow's World, it was apparent that they had some logistical interest in the rock itself!

As Sven over-flew the spaceport, his wireless suddenly came active.

_"Viper flying over Harlow Space Port! This is Harlow Center! Can you hear me…?!?! Please help! We see you! This is Harlow Center! Emergency! PLEASE RESPOND!"_

He'd been seen. And whoever had seen him was elated. He could hear the pleading in the voice over the wireless. His instincts told him otherwise, but he'd have to take a chance on finding out who this mysterious voice was.

"_Harlow Center, this is Viper Niner One Eight Yankee Zulu. Where are you located on the field?"_

_"Thank-the-Gods Yankee Zulu! _We thought the whole solar system was gone! We're in the new Center bunker at the far-east end of the spaceport! Please help us!"

Robbins slowed to a near hover and made a pass over the east end of the field. The bunker was in a fortified revetment that was under thick foliage. He was almost on the deck before he saw the entrance. The facility had been upgraded in recent years. Obviously the Cylons missed that bit of intelligence.

As he came around for a second look, Sven made a decision…He switched his wireless back to the channel Captain Rohs was monitoring. "Jahlee, do you copy?"

Jahlee was relieved to hear Sven's voice. The 15 minute clock had run down to five minutes and she'd been getting nervous. "Affirmative, Sven, loud and clear…What took so long? Stop to have a cold one?"

Sven knew she was being cute, but to tell the truth, he could use one right about now.

"Negative. I'm over the spaceport and it looks intact, but the Colonial Forces station and the city are wasted. But it looks like there are survivors in the approach control bunker! I'm going to take a look. If you don't hear from me in thirty minutes, bug out as previously planned. In any case, if the bad guys show up, you get lost without so much as a word over the wireless or we're toaster fodder!"

More waiting. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Not to mention that the folks back on Menno Seven Three would be watching their own clocks wondering where they'd gotten off to. "Let's make it quick, Sven. My "excitement tolerance factor" is maxed out. I'm ready to call it a day!"

Sven made yet a third circle around the spaceport then selected gear-down. As he approached the bunker area he put the Viper into a hovering taxi maneuver and headed for the empty hangar revetment next to the bunker entrance. The Viper slid towards the revetment like a figure skater on ice. Sven centered the nose of the Viper on the revetment and brought the Viper to a dead hover. He then did a slow 180 degree pedal turn while hovering. Then he nudged the thrusters to push back under the camoflauged hangar roof.

Satisfied that he was in place, Sven let the Viper settle to the hangar deck and felt all three skids make contact. He quickly went through shut-down procedure being careful to leave the Viper's systems in COMBAT ALERT mode. If necessary, he'd be able to get airborne immediately without waiting for all of the avionics to come on.

Robbins started to release the canopy, but then thought better of it and selected the "external radiation monitor" before he compromised the safety of the radiation-tight cockpit. As expected, it became active the second he selected it, but surprisingly it was right at the arc between "SAFE" and "CAUTION". Again, he had to wonder, why would the Cylons nuke the homeworlds yet leave this place in relatively good condition?

Assured that he was safe, Robbins let the canopy slide up as he set his helmet on the dash of the Viper. It had only been a little bit over an hour since they'd left Menno Seven Three, yet he was stiff and soaking wet. Amazing what a few seconds worth of deep space combat could do to a body, he thought.

"_MISTER, ARE WE GLAD TO SEE YOU!_"

The voice startled Robbins as he looked over his left shoulder to see a small throng of maybe 20 people come rushing into the hangar. He managed a small wave as he pulled his gloves off and un-did his lap belt and shoulder harness.

Two of the members of the crowd gathering at the base of the Viper pushed a gantry over to the side of -8YZ making it un-necessary for Robbins to have to clamber over the edge to get down. A good thing, too, as he wasn't so sure that he'd be able to handle climbing down over those little steps in the side of the bird right now.

.

As he de-planed, Robbins was assaulted with 1000 questions from a score of voices…The din was almost deafening under the roof of the revetment, their voices even louder than the sublight engines that were still spooling down.

"_What Battlestar are you from…?!?!"_

_"Where's the fleet?"_

_"What are they doing about this on Caprica?"_

_"When are we going to be rescued?"_

_"Why did they attack us?"_

Sven held both of his hands in the air and beckoned everyone to calm down. He tried several times but it was obvious they were scared and anxious.

At that point, a man in the crowd took two steps up on the gantry so as to be seen and waved to everyone there. It took a few seconds but the clamoring abated and the excited crowd became quiet.

The man stepped down off of the gantry and took Sven Robbins' hand. "I'm Elliott Ward. I'm the facility supervisor here. Do you know what's going on?"

Sven took a deep breath. Where to begin?

"I'm Sven Robbins. I'm the security chief of the OBMI operation at Menno Seven Three. Is there some place we can all sit down?"

"Security chief of a mining operation? How did you get the Viper?" Elliott Ward's surprise was to be expected, Sven thought.

"It's a long story…"

Sven didn't know where to start.

Or maybe he did.

"Where's the nearest bathroom…?!?!"

THREE

Alastair Kohn, Dewayne Kells, Will Cately and Alyssya Teague were pacing. Perhaps they weren't actually conscious of it but the specialists sitting at the flight operations console certainly were. It had been ninety minutes since the buoy retrieval mission had launched and the team should have been home 30 minutes ago. Of course that was assuming that they were able to jump in and out without having to execute one of the waypoint jumps, but even then they should have been home by now.

There was a knock on the bulkhead door behind them and everyone jumped a bit, so tense was the atmosphere in the room.

"_ENTER!" _barked Kells….

Kevin Payge opened the door, albeit gingerly, then stepped in briskly. "Sir, I have the updated readiness report the Senior Chief wanted…" The specialist wasn't sure what he'd done to warrant being on the receiving end of the rough response to his knock, but it startled him.

The Gunner realized that he'd just scared the specialist witless and then gave him a sheepish nod and waved him over to the Senior Chief. She'd taken to keeping to the far end of the console near the DRADIS screen.

"How're we looking, Payge…?" She was obviously nervous too, but was trying not to pass it on to her subordinate.

"Well Ma'am…In a nutshell, pretty good. We can fly all of the Raptors and Vipers although the wireless in Raptor 522 Tango Bravo is in-op. I'm already working on it. The engines all look good as far as we can tell, but we really need to get them into an open bay and test-run the sublights. All of the FTL's look green as far as we can test them. All we need to do is top off the tanks and run 'em up."

Senior Chief Teague looked over the sheets and carefully flipped the pages of the maintenance reports. She really wasn't looking too closely, but then she had just heard everything she needed to hear.

"Mr. Kohn, can we get the refueling barge over to Bay Four anytime soon?"

Before the dock master could answer, the specialist at the DRADIS station sat up straight: "_DRADIS CONTACT! _Zero three seven Carem one one seven, squawking Colonial transponder for Raptor Five Sierra Bravo!"

There was a sudden out-rush of air as everyone in the room, including the technicians and Specialist Payge allowed themselves the luxury of breathing.

"_Menno Control, this is Raptor One Two One Five Sierra Bravo. How copy?_" Captain Rohs' voice sounded excited and up-beat.

"Five Sierra Bravo you're loud and clear. You're cleared to Bay Four, Spot One. Will this be hands-on or would you like to auto-dock, over?" If the specialist at the console knew Captain Rohs any better, he wouldn't have had to ask, but ask he did.

"_Five Sierra Bravo will be hands on to Spot One, thank-you. Be advised that the Viper won't be here for a while so go ahead and close up behind me…And if he's not there already, will you ask Will Cately to meet me as soon as we're tucked in_…?!?!"

Now everyone in operations was confused.

Everyone except Gunner Kells, that was, but no one seemed to notice that he didn't appear to be too distraught or surprised over the wireless call. There was nothing in Captain Rohs' voice that sounded like trouble had befallen the Viper…And why would she ask for her First Officer to be there?

The specialist at the console looked back at Mr. Kohn who gave his acknowledgement of the delay in the Viper's return. "OK…Let's go see what the lady has to say! , you lead the way!"

The word was no sooner said than all of the principals headed for the hangar bay floor level. As they arrived at the airlock hatch they could hear the massive outer bay doors closing followed by the tell-tale sound of the hangar bay pressurizing. Although it only took five minutes, it seemed an eternity. No matter…The annunciator over the door switched from red to green and Gunner Kells proceeded to spin the wheel to un-dog the hatch. As he did, Jahlee Rohs was hopping off the left wing of the Raptor with Bill Johns right behind her.

The Raptor crew and the other staff almost collided on the deck, hugs and hand-shakes being passed around the small group. Alyssya Teague then broke away to climb up onto the upper fuselage of the Raptor. The Chief took a quick look over the buoy. "She's in one piece! I'll have the data card out in a minute!…Payge, gimme a hand here." The specialist was up the side of the Raptor in a second.

"OK, Jahlee, what's the mystery and what tavern did you leave Robbins in?" Kells almost belied his knowledge of where the first waypoint was.

"Well…It's funny you put it that way, Gunner, because we got jumped picking the buoy up on the other side of Aerilon. Sven splashed one Raider and we bugged out to Waypoint 1. We were about to jump home when we intercepted a distress call on civil guard! You may not believe this, but _there are survivors on Harlow's World!" _The starfreighter captain was having a hard time containing her enthusiasm. After the last week of one disaster after another, a bit of good news, at least.

The small assemblage broke out into a dozen questions and it took Jahlee a few seconds to get control of the conversation again.

"Here's what I know…We got a distress call from someone who indicated they were at Harlow Center. Sven went down and did a recon of the surface. The small fleet station at Mah'lydee Point and Harlow City are gone, but there are 21 survivors at the center bunker. The aerodrome is intact."

"And what about Sven?" asked the Senior Chief.

"That's what I need Will for. Sven stayed with the survivors. He thinks the Cylons attacked the place in such a way as to leave certain resources intact for them to come back and use later. If we don't get those people out soon they will probably be annihilated when those chrome frakkers come back."

Alastair Kohn spoke up from the back of the crowd. "And how did he come up with that assessment?"

Gunner Kells turned to the dock master. "Trust me, Alastair, if Sven says that the Toasters will be back, they'll be back. We need to get those people out. If anyone knows how to size up enemy actions, it's him."

"And where do we propose to put these new arrivals?" Samantha O'byea had arrived unannounced and as stealthily as any Marine. Kells was impressed.

Jahlee was quick to reply. "Ma'am…I don't think that there's any question about that. We can't leave these people behind. They're humans, for Gods sakes! " The captain may have been small, but she could be very animated when need be.

All eyes turned to Samantha O'byea. She was obviously taken aback by the starfreighter captain's brusque retort. Unspoken, but first in her mind, was how were they going to further ration already limited resources to these new exiles? And what happens if they come across even more people fleeing the attacks?

"I didn't mean to suggest that we shouldn't help them. I was just concerned that our resources here are very limited. We're already at about nine months sustainability with who we have and what resources we have. How will that be affected by twenty-one more mouths to feed?"

Dewayne Kells wouldn't say it out loud, but he had to give some begrudging admiration to the administrator. He hadn't expected this of her. She was, however, an economist and crunching numbers was her expertise. And humans or not, she was right. Extra mouths and lungs meant less food and oxygen for everyone else. However there would be no debate. They'd get those people out of harm's way now and worry about the logistics later.

"That won't be a big problem, Ma'am…According to the people Sven is talking to on Harlow there are at least four warehouses of goods that were near the spaceport that didn't get nuked or bombed. They've going to get started loading all of the goods that they can into the undamaged cargo containers. If we hurry and off-load the two pods from the BeeCee we can do this in one evolution."

She paused for a second to see that everyone was taking in what she'd laid out already. "From what they described to me it will be at least a couple more pod's worth of goods, maybe more." It was already apparent where the Captain was going with this. "We need one environmental pod for the people. The rest can hold cargo."

"And what time frame are you looking at to run this, Captain?" Gunner Kells could hear Sven Robbins' thinking in the Captain's words and knew better than to ask, but at least he was keeping the ruse up.

"We'll jump to Harlow at 20:30 Caprica Nominal day after tomorrow." Captain Rohs turned to her first officer. "Will, will you left seat the Breaker Castle into the spaceport with me in the Raptor?"

Cately had been on the list for a ship of his own, but under the circumstances, he'd be glad to take the BeeCee on this hop. "Just gimme the keys, Mom. Do I have to be home any certain time..?!?!" Cately's feigning was obvious in its playful sarcasm. The elbow he caught in the ribs was the captain's reply.

"Gunner, Sven wants you in another Raptor for coverage. He said they used low-yield weapons and the spaceport is still safe right now, but it will definitely be Toaster Town anytime soon. He wasn't sure about stretching this to 48 hours, but said that if they were going to clean out that warehouse, they'd need that much time to get a working transport over there."

Gunner Kells nodded his head slightly. He hadn't flown a tactical flight in several years…He hoped the old adage about "getting back in the saddle is just like falling off a bicycle" was true. Of course last time he'd been on a bike he spent the next six weeks on crutches.

"What've I gotten myself into?" he wondered to himself.

It was apparent that they, they being Rohs and Robbins, had already made up their minds and put the plan into action. But then Gunner Kells had almost expected this to be the outcome of his plan to put Robbins into proximity with Harlow's World anyway.

"Well…looks like we need to set some extra places at the table." Samantha O'byea wasn't happy, but then who was these days?

FOUR

The first 24 hours after they arrived on Menno Seven Three had been busy ones for the Breaker Castle's Engineer, Brad Westling and Load Master Greto Park. They had to off-load the two Vipers and the Raptor then move the two Pods to a holding area. Westling had given the BeeCee the once over externally and made sure she was ready for the next flight. _Assuming_ that there would be a "next flight", that was. The way things were shaping up it was looking like this rock might be a permanent address for a while.

Captain Rohs' return from the buoy recovery mission and the orders to turn the BeeCee around for the Harlow rescue mission came as a shock. Not that they minded doing the mission but the BeeCee was a freighter afterall. This was going to be, for all intents and purposes, a tactical combat mission. Westling and Park had both served in the Forces at one time, but neither as combat crewmen, and certainly never under fire.

_"Under fire…"_ Now THAT was scary.

Nonetheless, they'd make sure the Breaker Castle put in a good showing. They had crewed together for many years and now wasn't going to be the time to decide they had better things to do.

The really busy part right now was prepping the BeeCee's cargo pods for a new mission. They had to completely unload the pods and that meant finding places to put everything in Menno's warehouse. Luckily, Menno had a surplus of labor at the moment, the non-Tylium mining operations having been suspended.

Ayellen Ballew, the housing manager, and David Garza from the messing facility, took charge of supervising the unloading and storage of the BeeCee's cargo. Storing the dry-goods and canned goods wouldn't be a problem. The tunnels along the axis of Menno Seven Three were each 20 kilometers long, and it would take one hell of a lot of canned goods to fill up that much space. Nonetheless they took the Pods a good half click down each tunnel and started unloading cargo flats there. Not only did it keep the center of gravity of the rock fairly even, if one end of the asteroid took a hit the opposite end would have some provisions laid up in it.

Don O'Banion and his longshoremen made short work of the unloading process. The beef that had been in BeeCee's refrigerated pod was now safely stowed in Menno Seven Three's deep freezer storage unit.

"I've been here three years and I can't remember that box having ever been that full," quipped Garza.

Don O'Banion just let a slight sigh pass. This may be the _last_ time it ever looks that good, too, he thought.

The stockpiling wasn't the only activity going on in Menno's tunnels, either. Each tunnel had been designated as a "pole" for ease of direction-finding. From the hangar bay, the tunnel to the left had been designated the "North Pole" and the one to the right as the "South Pole". And it was at the far end of the South Pole that Sergeant Grant Lohan and Corporal Alvin Jarvis had taken the Marine Detachment, or "MarDET". The lack of mining activity and the remoteness of the site made it perfect for small weapons training and close quarters combat drill.

The mission to recover Mr. Robbins and the people on Harlow's World was going to be a RUF mission, better known as a Rescue Under Fire mission. Although it appeared as though the other asteroid was devoid of Cylons, Gunner Kells was going to make sure that any unexpected company was greeted by Marines.

Jarvis and two of the other Marines had set up an improvised close quarters battle trainer, or "CQB House", and had placed large paper targets of Cylon Centurions in some of the rooms. A few of the rooms had Cylons that were in front of civilian shields. Needless to say, not hitting a civvies was the goal. They'd also set up a small firing range with targets at a few hundred meter intervals.

Even with his left arm in a sling, Lohan was in the thick of things. He may not be able to go on this mission, but he'd do his damned best to make sure that all of his Marines came home in one piece.

Truth be known, the Marines themselves welcomed the drills. "Practice" on board a Battlestar, or any other ship of the line for that matter, always meant blank rounds and very limited space to practice in. An assault rifle firing blanks was not the same as hot rounds. Menno's cavernous tunnels gave them both room to maneuver and plenty of opportunity to put some real rounds down range without the worry of puncturing a pressure wall.

With each evolution of disembarkation and assault of the CQB House, the Marines cut their times by a few seconds. Again and again Sergeant Lohan ran the teams through the drills until they were able to get from the front door to the back room in under 90 seconds. He was fierce and he was stern. No one was going to get shot or hurt because he didn't train them right.

Time after time, each fireteam stormed the building. With nearly ballet-like precision, they advanced to the front door, clearing each hallway and room as they moved. One Marine would always be facing the rear to protect the team's "six" and watch for any threats from the rear. Lohan regretted not having a "real" CQB House with pop-up targets. It was hard to simulate the sudden changes in fortune of combat without being able to throw in unexpected twists to the exercise. For now, though, this would have to do.

As the teams moved in-and-out of the CQB, Sergeant Lohan allowed his thoughts to drift back to a place in time that he'd been only ten days ago. He was getting close to the end of this enlistment and he'd given some civilian sector jobs some thought. He'd even considered a posting to a facility much like this one. Ironic, he thought, that he now found himself here and, for all intents and purposes, at war.

How quickly the fortunes of life can change.

FIVE

Kevin Payge sat in one of the service pods at the back of Bay Four. Senior Chief Teague had handed him the data card from the translight buoy and gave him the task of downloading the data from the card to viewer disks.

He inserted the disk into the computer and started running the download program. The buoy's initial star fix photos were first. Payge watched as the text scrolling across the bottom identified Helios Aerilonia, Aerilon's sun, and then one after another it located the suns of Picon, Caprica and Saggitaron in succession.

He watched the spectrum analyzer as it scanned for the OPRANS satellites only to hear static. Then as the face of the buoy turned towards Aerilon he cold see the clouds that covered the surface. As it did, the radiation meter rapidly swung into the "red zone" and pegged at the maximum reading. Unable to see through the clouds in regular light, he switched to the infrared view.

The software projected the outline of what should have been the city boundries of Spaceport City along with it's latitude and longitude. The infrared glowed bright red from the lingering heat and radiation on the surface.

All the buoy could see were the craters of at least four nuclear detonations. No city…No space port…nothing. Only the flashing of the words "RADIATION HAZARD" scrolling across the bottom of the data stream.

He slid the view to the Colonial Fleet Liaison Base west of Spaceport City only to find more of the same. He selected a small corner northeast of the base and zoomed in on it hoping to see some signs of life where he knew the Operations Bunker was located. Right where the bunker should have been was a very precise, very deep crater. There weren't even any recognizable fragments of Vipers or Raptors to be seen.

Payge then fast forwarded the video and spectrum scans, watching for any spikes or clues that might have indicated that there was some sort of intelligence coming from the surface. He covered all of the known civil and military distress channels and common broadcast frequencies.

Nothing but static.

It only took him 20 seconds to scan through the video and RF analysis. If there was anything to be heard or seen, it wasn't making it through the background noise created by the radiation. And with the radiation numbers being recorded nothing was going to be living down there much longer. Only the most well equipped Ministry of Defense bunkers would be able to hold out, and then not for more than 90 days.

Payge did a radiation spectrum analysis, and it was here that he became confused. The Toasters had used fondatonium weapons. Fondatonium had an initial high burst of neutrons that killed most living things and did a lot of localized damage, but as nuclear weapons went, it was a very low destructive yield device. Its lethal half-life was only a few years, but in those few years it was almost impossible for human life to exist without high doses of anti-radiation medications. Sometimes the cure was worse than the illness itself.

Aerilon would be green and covered with vegetation again within a few years. It might even be habitable in five or ten years. By then, however, the residents of Menno Seven Three will have already died of starvation or suffocation. In any case, the Toasters will probably have over-run the place.

The view then jumped to Azur'a, Aerilon's moon, as the buoy had jumped to the neighboring body. At least the views of the surface were easily viewed in regular light. However that didn't reconcile the fact that the damage to the outposts there were as equally horrific as it had been on Aerilon. Even the purely scientific and civilian facilities had been destroyed.

As it had at Aerilon, the buoy had conducted an RF spectrum scan. And as on Aerilon, the results were the same. Nothing. Most terrifying were the scans for radiation in the atmosphere. There wasn't any atmosphere. Azur'a's paper-thin atmosphere had been blown away.

Payge again fast-forwarded through the scans making sure that any clue triggers were preset to alarm him to potential signals, but they remained silent.

He then withdrew a blank video disk from a drawer and inserted it into the scanner and selected "TRANSFER". He could hear the disk start to spin up just as the door to the pod swung open. It was Bekka Robbins. "Hey Kev…Did we get any good pics?" Bekka hopped up on the counter-top behind Payge's work station. Any other time he might have been easily distracted by the presence of a woman as beautiful as Bekka Robbins, but right now, his gut was empty.

"Yeah…yeah…the whole disk was loaded. I don't know if I'd call what we got as "good" or not, but at least now we know." His affect was flat. His voice a monotone, almost a whisper.

"So…you gonna let me in on it?" Bekka started to try and tease a smile out of the technician, but it was obvious that even that innocuous effort was going to be un-rewarded. "Kev…?" Her tone became more concerned, like someone asking a friend if they were sick.

"They're gone, Bekka…Aerilon…Azur'a…gone. There's nothing left…." Payge's face was pale, his voice broken and wavering. "They really did it. Every city, every base. All nine continents are smoldering…."

The specialist hadn't been able to look at her since she walked into the pod and even now all he could hear was the sound of the computer heads spinning and her breathing. He slowly turned to face her and was aghast at what he saw. She was as white as a ghost. Her hands were gripping the edge of the console so hard that her knuckles were colorless. Her tears were making rivulets of what little make-up that she had applied and one was forming a drop on her chin. Her lower lip was quivering and it was apparent that no matter what she might have wanted to say, the words weren't coming.

He stood and put his arms around her. She let go with one hand and put it around his shoulder. Then the other. Her movements were almost mechanical and panicked. It was as if the hold she had on the counter-top was the only thing keeping her from being pulled out of an airlock.

"It'll be alright, Bekka…We'll be alright…" Kevin Payge's tone was calm and reassuring, but even he wasn't so sure that he believed what he was telling her.

Bekka Robbins began to sob. It was all Kevin could do to not follow suit. The two of them embraced for several moments with only their tears, sobs and heartbeats breaking the silence. But after a moment, the video disk Payge had started recording reached its end and an incessant beeping filled the room. It was Bekka that broke the moment and gently parted their embrace. She pushed him back gently, daubing at the tears on her cheeks.

"They'll be expecting that upstairs, Kev…"

"I know…But now I know what they meant by 'ignorance is bliss'. Right now, you and I are the only two humans in the universe that know what we know about this disk. There's almost 200 people on Menno and several of them are from Aerilon. Neither you or I are from there and look how this affected us. Imagine what's going to hit the fan in a few minutes…"

The young specialist set his forehead against hers. She lifted her head to look at him, and for a moment, _just _that moment, everything was alright. Tenderly, he took her right hand in his left and helped her from her perch on the counter-top. "Let's get this upstairs…" he said.

Kevin Payge and Bekka Robbins walked side-by-side through the hangar bay, slowly and unsteadily, at first, but then with an ever-appreciating gait, to the elevator that ran up to the Administration offices. They rode the elevator to the Admin floor in silence, each of them glancing to the other for just a second of reassurance. The ride was quick and the door slid open to the outer offices. They exited simultaneously but Bekka took the lead to the door marked "Security Chief~~Sven A. Robbins".

"Dad had them set up here, Kev…" Bekka's voice was broken and almost a whisper.

Kevin Payge hesitated knocking for a second since the last time he knocked on a door he got barked at. Yet knock he did…three solid raps on the door jamb. Unlike his last experience, however, he was met with a far more welcoming "_enter_".

Seated at the far end of an oval table was Gunner Kells, Captain Rohs, First Officer Cately, Sergeant Lohan, Corporal Jarvis, Senior Chief Teague and two civilians that Payge didn't recognize but who obviously recognized Bekka Robbins. They were all bent over a planning table and the Marines appeared to be animated about moving something around the spots on a map.

"Senior Chief…I have the results of the download and the spectrum analysis from the translight buoy." The crowd around the table suddenly became silent as Specialist Payge handed the disk to the Senior Chief.

"And…?" The Senior Chief had a good idea by the specialist's affect that he knew what was on the disk. "How bad…?"

Specialist Payge looked at Bekka Robbins for a brief second and then redirected his gaze to the Gunner and then the Senior Chief. "I'm not an imaging interpretation specialist, Senior Chief. But this doesn't look good…" The young specialist took a laptop top from Bekka Robbins and set it on the table that the maps were set up on and patched it into widescreen viewer in the room. He hit enter.

They all watched in disbelief as the pictures switched from one devastated landmark to another. If not for the scrolling information under the pictures they wouldn't have had a clue as to which scene was _which_ landmark, either. It wasn't 'bad'…It was devastating.

"Any signals, Specialist?" The Gunner asked but he was certain he already knew the answer.

"No Sir. Nothing. I scanned all military, commercial, aeronautical, maritime and civilian distress frequencies. I even scanned the hobbyist wireless bands to see if there might be any isolated pockets of survivors. But even if there is, the background radiation levels are so high we didn't hear it." Specialist Payge looked at the people gathered around the table. They were all looking to him right now.

"They were fondatonium weapons. If anyone's alive down there now, they won't be in a few days. All of the land masses in both hemispheres got hit. Irradiated clouds cover 60% of the planet. The computer says it will be 90% by week's end. Only the poles are devoid of radiation clouds but they'll be covered too…"

Each of the members of the group glanced around at the other.

"There is an up side to this…" Payge's wavered a bit.

There was a brief, almost painful silence in the room. "And that would be, Specialist?" The Gunner didn't have a clue as to what could be "up" about this.

Payge cleared his throat and flipped through some notes on the podium in front of him. "Well…The fondatonium…that's what I can't understand. It's initial blast radius is small and the initial radiation release is significant. But the half life is real short. …Like five years. Even stranger, fondatonium radiation tears up exposed living tissue, but does hardly any damage to plants that aren't destroyed in the initial blast or fire. Assuming the debris in the atmosphere can settle out and the normal weather patterns can re-establish themselves, Aerilon could be re-colonized in as little as five years. I just wonder why the Toasters would want Aerilon in a condition that humans could re-populate it in a relatively short time?"

With that, Payge saw a momentary look of surprise cross the Gunner's face. Indeed. Why _would_ the Toasters be so pre-disposed to having the surface relatively low-signature in so short a period of time. They could operate in that environment with near impunity. There were few forms of radiation or electromagnetic forces that would screw with the Cylon's cybernetic nets, yet do a lot more damage to humans. Why did they use these weapons?

"Thank-you, Specialist. Well done.…Miss Robbins, would you ask Ms. O'byea to join us…And both of you…please keep this to yourselves until the mission returns, please."

The Gunner turned his attention back to the situation map. It was better than getting caught staring at the walls in disbelief.

SIX

Sven Robbins was swaying gently in the hammock provided by Elliott Ward and the DRADIS crew at Harlow Center. It had been years since he _had _to sleep in one on a mission but then that was in the middle of a jungle well over 20 years ago. This one was suspended in an air conditioned office under 50 meters of dirt and concrete. Nonetheless, sleeping in what amounts to a bag tied at two ends can be a bit disconcerting to someone who's grown used to pillows and mattresses.

Thankfully, it was, for the most part, quiet as a temple in the DRADIS center offices. After telling-the-tale of the attacks on Aerilon and his own miraculous escape after the buoy retrieval, Sven managed to convince the survivors that broadcasting their presence wasn't necessarily in their best interests. It had only been good fortune that he had heard the distress call and not a Cylon Heavy Raider. Also, the relatively joyous mood of the survivors had abated after hearing about the events of the last week.

Life on Harlow's World had been the ultimate in idyllic for most Colonials. Away from the usual hustle-and-bustle of the Twelve Worlds, the most "excitement" was the occasional bar fight in one of the night clubs, and even then, those were few and far between in the last decade. The relatively mundane 'life as usual' routine had permeated Colonial life after the first two decades into the Cylon Armistice. That such horrific devastation had been brought to them was unthinkable.

Robbins awoke with a start as the center manager, Elliott Ward tapped him on the shoulder…"Sven…It's 07:00. You asked to be awoken…?"

Sven couldn't believe how soundly he had been sleeping. He looked around, still somewhat disoriented, groggy and eyes partially clouded by sleep, taking in the sights and sounds of the bunker. Most everyone else was asleep, but that was fixing to have to change.

"Thank-you, Elliott. We need to start getting everyone else moving too. We've got a busy day ahead of us…". Sven turned slowly in the hammock and let his feet touch the cold floor. If he weren't quite awake before, that surely helped him along.

Busy, indeed. They only had 24 hours until Captain Rohs and the flight from Menno would be back to get them. If this was going to work, everyone had to be in one place at the same time. Also, Harlow's World had an eight hour day / night rotation. They'd see two sunrises before the Breaker Castle arrived.

It took Robbins a few minutes to completely awaken. The flight from Menno to the far side of Aerilon had been stressful enough, but the dogfight with the Raider and evading the other two had taken their measure from him. He kept running the dogfight through his mind and he wondered how he was so fortunate to escape the Cylon fighter. It had seemed almost too easy…Or perhaps the Cylons just didn't care to commit the resources to toe-to-toe fights. Maybe the "sucker punch" was their new tactic. Of course it was _one hell_ of a sucker punch, to be sure.

He shuffled into the men's head and sauntered up to one of the urinals. This one was connected to a recycling plant somewhere a few clicks away, no doubt. In a few hours he'd be back on Menno voiding into a urinal that would recycle that same urine to make his meals or provide his showers. That was a thought that he wished hadn't come to the surface.

And speaking of showers, he decided to allow himself the indulgence of taking a hot one now. Although he'd long since taken his environmental suit off, he'd been wearing the same flight suit under it for almost 24 hours now and it was time to apply some soap and hot water in some strategic places before someone else might 'suggest' it to him.

He gathered up a towel and headed for the first open bay and set the water. It only took a few seconds for the mist to become hot and he adjusted the flow to get it "just right". He started to lather up thoroughly when a young man of mid-twenties appeared in the heated mist of the shower. "Mr. Robbins? Mr. Ward says there's something going on and he'd like you to come out to the main console real quick, Sir…"

Robbins just stood there looking at the young technician slightly dumbfounded for a second. He then looked in the mirror to see if there was a sign that said "Kick Me" on his forehead, but alas, no sign. Maybe it was just pure bad luck.

"Yeah…Gimme two minutes…"

The young man saw the look of frustration on Sven's face, so he quickly turned around and made a beeline for the operations center. He decided it was better to not be around after that!

As promised, though, Sven was in the main Center bay within two minutes, dripping wet, but there nonetheless. "What's up, Elliott…?" His tone was somewhat annoyed, but then too he knew these people had survived alone for several days. They knew the idiosyncrasies of this area, and if they thought something was amiss, they were probably right.

At one of the DRADIS stations, a technician was watching the planet-wide monitor. Elliott Ward tapped the technician on the shoulder. "Run the archive back to the anomaly, Beth…"

The young lady gently tapped a series of keys and the DRADIS screen momentarily flipped from one screen to another. "We've been keeping a silent-passive watch on DRADIS like you advised, Mr Robbins, but five minutes ago I saw this…"

Robbins watched the screen for a moment and then saw it…What appeared to be a baseship momentarily appeared from a translight vortex in a direct line with the sun. It was there for but a minute, then it disappeared again.

"Did you see any other DRADIS contacts, Beth?" For a moment Sven felt he was being a bit informal with the technician, but then they hadn't exactly been introduced and "hey you" would be the epitome of rude. Had he not heard Elliott address her otherwise, that would have had to do.

"Well…No Sir, I hadn't. But since we are in passive-only mode, we can't get the degree of detail that we could if we were doing active DRADIS scans. It's like trying to see grains of sand with a magnifying glass instead of a microscope. You can see some of the bigger ones, but the smaller ones could still get past you…"

By now the rest of the center had awoken and gathered around the passive monitoring station. Sven just stared at the screen for several seconds then had the technician run it back several times, slowing the view each time baseship appeared until it disappeared again. There was no _direct_ evidence that the baseship had detected them or had launched recon birds of their own, but there was no use taking any chances.

"Mr. Ward…Can you post a couple of people outside and keep a visual watch? No wirelesses…If they see anything, have them report back directly. Keep them under the camoflauge, OK?"

"Will do." The DRADIS supervisor immediately turned to two of the younger men in the group standing behind him. "Blaine, McElroy, take a couple of water bottles and binoculars and find a spot on the roof of the bunker. We'll relieve you in two hours…"

"And guys…" Sven added "…it's not just what you see…keep quiet and listen too. Unless they have made some serious upgrades, the Toasters can't use GABS to re-enter because it screws up their own neural nets. Listen for sonic booms. If you hear anything louder than a parakeet or a cricket, I want to know about it immediately." Robbins wished he could just clone himself for sentinels.

Both of the young men acknowledged Ward and Robbins and started to head for the door. But just before the two technicians got to there, the one named McElroy turned back and walked up to Sven. "Sir…You got a second?"

Robbins looked around, almost annoyed. He was sure he was about to get some "I'm not cut out for this kinda work" lament. Adrian McElroy wasn't a big man, but he seemed like an OK sort. But one could never tell until the moment of truth came. Now this DRADIS tech was being asked to put his life on the line up-front-and-personally. Having a bit of anxiety would be natural.

"Sure…McElroy, right…?"

"Yes Sir. Can we step in here for a minute?" McElroy beckoned the Security Chief into an administrative cube adjacent to the main bay. It wasn't a closed office, but it allowed some privacy.

"OK, McElroy, what's up? You worried about this detail?"

The DRADIS technician peered around the corners of the door of the cube and then began to roll the right sleeve of his tunic up almost to his shoulder. Emblazoned on his right arm was the tattoo of a winged lightning bolt-stylized dagger with the letters S-S-T under it.

Robbins was at first flabbergasted. But his shock turned to satisfaction as he too rolled up his right sleeve to reveal the same tattoo, albeit a bit more worn and faded with time and multiple evolutions of tanning and paling.

"_So you're the one_?" Robbins had known that the fleet was putting SST operators in remote locations as part of the same dispersal program that he'd received the two Raptors and Viper for, but he didn't know who they were or _where _they were. "Had any actual bush time, McElroy?" Robbins' tone suddenly changed. He was with a colleague…A fellow warrior. He now knew he wasn't alone.

"I did three years on the Starcruiser Gemanii then a year on Picon, Sir. I was also on Operation Semper Vigilans for six months."

"_You_ were on Semper Vigilans? You went across the frontier?" Now Robbins _was _surprised. No doubt the Cylons had monitoring stations within the Colonial frontier, but the Colonies had made a lot of political fodder out of how "we" honored the demarcation line without exception…"Without exception…"…_except_ for the SST's who _routinely_ deployed to any one of an unknown number of observation posts that were supposed to be secret.

"Secret", that was, until the Colonial Forces sent a recon Viper across the frontier and it was jumped by a flight of Cylon Raiders. The Battlestar that had sent it then turned around and shot it down. That had been more than two years ago.

"Yes Sir…I was at Ricochet Three and Recoil Six. I was at Recoil Six when the plug was pulled. We had to bug out under fire. Our cover was an illegal mining operation but we were jumped by a Cylon patrol after a Fleet recon Viper blew the cover."

Well…that answered a lot of questions for Robbins…except one. "How'd you know that _I _was SST, McElroy?"

McElroy had rolled his sleeve back down as had Robbins. "You were a speaker at the inter-service seminars on Gemenon and Scorpia a few years ago. I was there."

Robbins began to nod knowingly. "Now I remember you! Well, I am glad you're here. You know what I need to know." Then Sven's somewhat joyous tone turned slightly serious. "Stay frosty up there…And keep that civvie with you out of trouble!"

Adrian McElroy extended his right arm and Sven Robbins grasped it mid arm. They shook, allowing their hands to slide down to a conventional handshake.

The odds just improved, thought Robbins.

SEVEN

Evelyn Weiss and Bob Blizzard made their way over the second rise away from the aerodrome and into a warehouse marked "Receiving One". It was a massive warehouse, almost as big as a Pyramid stadium. Part of the facility was actually built into the hillside, partially to protect it and partially to keep the heating and cooling expenses to a minimum. It worked.

Weiss backed the tractor-trailer rig into one of the loading bays and put the rig in park. Bob Blizzard hopped down from his perch in the co-drivers side and walked back to the end of the rig. He clambered up onto the platform and walked over to the massive portal. He pulled up on it and it only budged a few centimeters or so before it dropped back to the ground.

He tried again, this time sliding a board under the edge of the door and applying a bit of leverage. It seemed as though the door moved up a few more centimeters, but then promptly dropped back down to the floor with a clang that could have been heard in orbit.

Evelyn Weiss walked over to the door. "Mind if I give it a try, Bob…?" She had a playfully sarcastic tone to her, and he had to wonder what simple thing he'd overlooked. Evelyn walked over to a steel box mounted on the wall and swung it open. There were two switches in the box, one big rocker switch marked "SAFETY" and the other "up" and "down" with a neutral mid-position. She cycled the safety switch to the "OPERATE" position and then pushed the "up" button and held it. With the groan of an electric motor and hydraulic pistons, the massive door slowly started to rise.

If Bob Blizzard's face could have turned a brighter shade of red, they could have used him as an Ambulance warning light. Oh well…Next time.

"OK, smart alec…Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked snidely.

"Well, it was a combination of years of education, technical prowess, and a boyfriend that worked the midnight shift who snuck me in to hang out on the slow nights!" Evelyn was obviously enjoying the moment.

They both looked around the inside of the darkened building until they found the panel marked "emergency lighting". Evelyn Weiss leaned on the "START" button for a few seconds until the fluorescent lights in the hallways came on. It wasn't full brilliance, but they were able to turn their flashlights off.

Blizzard would have found something to throw at her but on first examination everything within eyesight was canned goods. He wanted to wing her, not take off a limb! In any case, it looked as though they'd hit the mother lode of groceries right off the bat.

"_OVER HERE!" _Evelyn Weiss had obviously found something, and 'find something' she had. As Bob Blizzard joined up with his cohort he was immediately overwhelmed as he laid eyes on what appeared to be at least an acre of stacked canned goods.

"Well…at least the chrome bastards waited until we got re-supplied! A day or two sooner and we would have been out of luck!"

Evelyn pointed to the empty cargo pods that were in an adjoining bay. "Look here, Bob! They must have known we were going to need to pack for a long trip!"

"I'm going to see if we can find a forklift, Evie…stay here…" Bob disappeared into a bay marked "Motor Pool". A moment later she was startled to hear the sound of electric motors coming her way.

"Lookie what I found!" Blizzard was almost boyish in his jubilance. "And the batteries are in the full green arc. Gods Bless the guy who remembered to plug this in before he went home for the night!" Blizzard drove up next to where Evelyn was standing, came to s slightly screeching halt, then shut the forklift off before he jumped down. "This one's for you! There's another one in there for me!"

"Well before you start slingin' pods there, Big Boy, let's see what's in here first. If we bring back four pods full of nothing but potatoes we're going to get hung up by our toes!"

It made sense to him. They were under the gun, to be sure, but like she said, they had to try and get some variety in these pods.

Just as they climbed into their respective loaders, there was a loud "clang" from the far end of the warehouse. They both froze, carefully scanning the far end of the massive warehouse for any movement or evidence of what made the loud noise.

Bob Blizzard slowly slid back off of his front-loader and un-holstered the sidearm he was carrying. He waved to Evelyn to stay low, and she was more than glad to do it. He then started to follow the long row of racks towards the end of the warehouse where the disturbance came from. She watched as he took each step as carefully as if trying to avoid a minefield. The pace was slow, but then he wasn't a trained warrior, and he was going to be damned sure that he didn't go rushing into some sort of ambush. It took him a few minutes to do it, but he eventually got to the far end of the warehouse. As he approached the last storage frame, he girded himself for the inevitable. He was sure that every living creature within a kilometer could hear his heartbeat as readily as he could, but then it wasn't the _living_ things he was worried about.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, readied his pistol, then took one more breath and held it. Fighting his own instinct to just run and hide, Blizzard threw himself around the last corner with the pistol at full arm's length, his finger on the trigger. He rapidly scanned left-to-right then left again, and found….nothing.

He was surprised to find several water conduits standing in one corner and one other laying on the floor. Near-by were the fresh foot prints of a pair of daggits. No doubt they were scrounging for food the same as the Colonials were. He finally realized that he'd been holding his breath for many seconds now, and he let the air escape loudly. He lowered the pistol and allowed himself to stand erect again.

Bob re-holstered his sidearm and headed back to the tractors. She watched him walk down the aisle towards her, his gait and mannerisms obviously relaxed and unconcerned. "We were just spooked by a couple of stray daggits, Evelyn…Knocked over some small irrigation pipes." He tried to sound nonchalant about the whole affair but his pulse seemed like it was running 1000 beats per minute. He looked back over his shoulder one more time as if to reassure himself that he wasn't followed or being watched. "Let's get this done already!" he said loudly. The stress in his voice was palpable.

The two DRADIS technicians then ran through the warehouse and quickly made note of what goods were in which aisle. Then they re-mounted their forklifts and began the arduous task of loading the pods with the goods. Flat after flat of foodstuffs, oils, flour and grains went into each pod. Each pod was supposed to only carry 4000 kilos, but neither one of them had a clue as to how much each of the pallets of food weighed. But this was going to be a one-way, one-time shopping spree and they'd best make the best of it. If it fit, they stuffed it into the pods, one after another.

It took them the best part of the morning and part of the afternoon to load the pods and then re-position the pods to where they could load them on the trailer.

The next trick was to get their booty to the aerodrome intact. Putting the pods onto the truck was relatively easy. Both of them had something to learn about how to strap the load to the trailer in one piece, however, and it took almost two hours before they could get ready to roll. Even then it was going to be slow going on the way to the aerodrome. No matter…It wasn't as if they were going to have to compete with rush hour traffic!

The first run to the field was uneventful. The load had rocked back and forth a bit, but the pods remained intact and the truck didn't stall or get stuck. Evelyn Weiss and Bob Blizzard looked at each other with a bit of incredulity. Something HAD to go wrong…didn't it? They marveled at their own good fortune as they arrived at the aerodrome.

They off loaded the pods in the revetment on the opposite side of the operations bunker. The off-load was far easier as they had two fork-lifts with which to move the pod.

The second trip to the warehouse was a bit quicker. Weiss and Blizzard joked with each other that they'd missed their calling and should have been cargo truckers instead of air traffic controllers.

As they were loading the last pod, Evelyn saw something out of the corner of her eye that at first surprised, then elated her. Partially hidden behind an empty cargo pod was another pod with the emergency medical emblem on it! She slid down from her loader and ran over to the pod. She quickly broke the seal on the latch then pulled the door open to find that was indeed full to the brim with medical supplies. This one would be worth its weight in gold, she thought!

She quickly finished loading the pod she's started with and then picked up the medical pod and placed it on the trailer in the number one position. "Hey Bob! Look what I found!"

Bob Blizzard turned around in the seat of his own loader to see what the commotion was about only to be shocked by the sight of the medical pod on the trailer. She had indeed hit a mother lode. "Well…Let's just hope we don't need all that stuff, Evie…"

The loading continued for another hour until just before they were ready to load the last pod. Suddenly there was another loud clank as something hit the floor at the far end of the warehouse. Both of the DRADIS controllers froze. Evelyn Weiss and Bob Blizzard looked at each other for a brief second. Daggits would have usually stayed away from the area with the sound of the loaders coming-and-going. Something or someone was poking around at the end of the aisles.

This time they both un-holstered their sidearms and slid down off of their loaders. There were only shadows in the distance as they had not turned all of the warehouse lights on. Bob Blizzard took the lead as he headed towards the sound. He tried to listen closely for any other sounds of movement, however the ambient sounds of the warehouse's air conditioners and fans masked any other sounds. Blizzard was careful to keep his back to the rows of stacked goods, occasionally looking over his shoulder at Evelyn Weiss. She, too, was staying close to the racks just behind Bob. As he watched her close on his position, he noticed her thumb along side of the grip of her pistol. He then held his up so she could see it and he made an obvious "flipping" with his thumb. Miss Know-It-All about opening warehouse doors was carrying a pistol locked on "safe". Some gunslinger she'd make.

As they approached the last two rows of shelves, Blizzard heard a "whump" immediately followed by the single yelp of a daggit. He slid cautiously along the row of foodstuffs, frequently looking back towards Evelyn Weiss to make sure she was still behind him. His heart raced faster and faster as he neared the corner of the shelves. Bob took a deep breath and then threw himself around the corner of the last row as he had before, his pistol at full arms length, cocked and ready to fire. Laying under a short length of conduit was a daggit…this one wasn't quite dead, its legs jerking randomly and blood flowing from its ears and mouth. Across it's body lay a three meter long piece of heavy pipe. Blizzard held his ground for a moment, snapping his head left-and-right to check for any other intruders. He looked around for any other signs of movement or evidence that there had been something else present. He saw some scratches on the floor, but other than that, no footprints…at least not daggit or human ones. He slowly lowered his weapon, then carefully re-holstered it. It appeared as though the unfortunate daggit had precipitated his own demise by knocking over the pipe. Or perhaps a companion had knocked it over. In any case, there was no evidence that the daggit's demise was anything but bad luck.

Blizzard turned and headed back towards the loaders, waving to Evelyn Weiss as he did. "Looks all clear, Evie. A pipe fell over on a stray daggit." This place was getting creepier by the minute and he was perfectly happy with the fact that all of the cargo pods were loaded. He couldn't get off this rock soon enough.

EIGHT

Back at Harlow Center, Sven Robbins and Elliott Ward had the other technicians on a 'mission' of a different sort. It was going to be important to take every last bit of gear with them that they could. Not that he was worried about the Cylons getting ahold of Colonial technology, but rather that they might need spare parts to keep things running on Menno. And right now all of the gear in Harlow center, from the fixtures on the wall to the DRADIS consoles themselves, was expendable.

Outside the bunker Robbins found the solar panel array that was feeding a bank of batteries. It was the only thing that kept Center up and running since the city's central power plant had been destroyed in the attack. It could also provide quite a bit of power for Menno. Menno had both a solar cell bank of significant size and a tylium-powered generator, but even they would only be able to produce so much power for any length of time. Furthermore, the solar panels didn't create a signature of their own, so if it were necessary to shut down the power plant for any reason they could at least keep life support for the billeting areas and food storage on-line.

Robbins kept an eye on his watch. 14:30 CapNom Time. Six hours to go. He tapped the face of the watch as if to make sure each second was being duly accounted for.

"Mr. Robbins. What about these?" One of the technicians brought a stack of disks and manuals on a cart. Robbins flipped through them and to his horror one of them was titled "Manned Deep-Space Autonomous Mining Facilities". He flipped through it, and there was Menno Seven Three prominently featured in about the middle of the manual.

"Is there an incinerator here?" he asked.

"No Sir…environmental regulations…"

"…are no longer of any concern, Specialist." Sven interrupted her mid sentence with a bit of a wry grin on his face. "Whatever smoke we make burning these records will be long since purged from the atmosphere by the time the radiation half-life of the nuclear weapons that detonated here are at safe levels for us to return. Burn all of them. And make sure there's nothing but ash, OK?"

The technician grinned a bit herself. There was always something satisfying about knowing that you're "breaking a law", even when there's no one around to tell you that you are doing it! "Yes Sir!" she replied, her tone almost playful.

The rest of the hours flew by as all of the center technicians and staff went about stowing the supplies as Sven Robbins had directed them to do. Technicians dismantled several of the DRADIS positions and cannibalized the wireless stations except for one. They even took the telephones off the desks and the desk-top computers from the offices. Everything was packed away a cargo pod.

Most of the panels were getting threadbare. There were cables and conduits lying all about as the technicians went about the business of removing the re-usable equipment. Only the built-in lighting fixtures on the walls and DRADIS station four with its attendant wireless interconnection was still up-and-running.

Robbins looked around him and was, in a word, gratified. Elliott Ward's staff had been quick and efficient. Most of all, there'd not been one word of complaint or protest at any of the tasks that Robbins had set them to do. These were professionals, to be sure, he thought.

Just as he was about to grab a bite to eat, Robbins heard the tractor-trailer pull up. Bob Blizzard and Evelyn Weiss were back from their third run to the warehouse. This will have to be the last, he thought. It will be enough to load these pods into the BeeCee plus get all the people in. Not to mention he knew Dewayne Kells would not come back without a least one fireteam to protect the withdrawal.

Sven stepped out onto the tarmac and watched as the big rig slowly backed into the hangar revetment. The other two pods were already sitting there, ready for loading onto the Breaker Castle to arrive. Speaking of which…Sven glanced at his watch. One hour to go.

Robbins glanced up on the roof of the Operations Bunker. He stretched to see where Adrian McElroy had positioned himself but he'd be dipped in daggit dung if he could see where the younger SST veteran had hidden himself. "_Damn this kid's good!" _he thought to himself.

Robbins let go a little whistle. Still no movement. Then suddenly he was blinded by the flip of a signal mirror, the full glare of Menno Prime redirected at him. Well…He may not see the kid, but by golly the kid was eyes-on with him! He'd have to remind himself to not play cards with this guy!

Robbins gave a thumbs up and McElroy diverted the mirror flash. "The BeeCee should be overhead in twenty-five mikes, McElroy. Keep your eyes open!" He checked his watch again. 20:05.

Sven stepped back into the center and found the Center chief. "Elliott…We need to get everyone moved towards the front of the bunker. If it's not already in a pod and ready to go, we leave it. Let's get them rounded up. Breaker Castle ought to be here in a little over 20 minutes. Once this gets rolling, that's it."

The Center supervisor looked to his own watch and then nodded. "Right you are, Sven…No one is going to want to miss this train!"

"_OK EVERYONE! _This is it. The Breaker Castle should be on it's way! Gather up your belongings and get into the center!"

Robbins looked at his watch again. 20:10. He'd been here almost two days now and the time hadn't weighed this heavily on him. Must just be the waiting, he thought. Just then, the tension was broken by an abrupt call from the remaining DRADIS station.

_"DRADIS CONTACT! Zero Three Three Carem Zero Zero One, CBDR! Coming dead-in from the sun! Negative Colonial transponders!"_

Robbins almost threw himself out of the chair he'd been sitting in, quietly cursing to himself under his breath. "Just like the chrome frakkers to show up just before game time" he muttered. "OK, how long have we got?" his question directed to the DRADIS technician.

"Range indeterminate, but estimating 100,000 kilometers and closing. Whoever they are, they aren't in too big a hurry. They're traveling at less than point one light. I don't think they know we're here!"

Just then the DRADIS technician sounded a second alarm. "_NEW CONTACT!" DRADIS bearing two-niner-zero carem three three five. CBDR! Colonial transponders! One cargo ship and two Raptors!"_

"_Elliott! Get your people ready to go!" _barked Robbins. The Center chief anxiously nodded and turned to carry out Sven's orders.

Sven then turned to the front door, almost knocking over another of the technicians as he pushed through the door. He took several strides past the edge of the over-hanging camoflauged, then turned to look up over the top.

"_MCELROY_! _Get your ass out of that tree house and get down here. We've got badguys coming!"_

The younger SST operator stood up out of the top of the shrubs over the bunker and was on the hangar deck in a second. "So who's coming to dinner, Boss? Company…?"

"You're frakkin'-A we got company! At least one bogey at 100K out CBDR coming in from the sun, plus the Breaker Castle and team just broke translight. It's going to get ugly here real soon!"

Robbins and McElroy both headed back into the bunker. Just as they entered the Center the wireless opened up: "_Scoreboard this is Quarterback, Scoreboard this is Quarterback. Centerfield and ready to play, over! _Kells' memory was better than his…He'd obviously remembered both of their old tactical call signs. A great way to validate who they were!

Robbins picked up the microphone from the DRADIS console. "_Quarterback this is Scoreboard. We're ready to rock, but we have extra players coming to the stadium! Eyeballs at high noon. He's taking his time getting here, though. Not sure if he's solo or if his team is still in the dugout_."

"Awwww…._FRAK…" _Dewayne Kells had been hoping for a nice clean in-and-out but it was apparent that the Cylons weren't going to be so accommodating. He slid his sunlight visor down over his eyes and then scanned towards the sun to see if he could find the bogey. He tried to draw an imaginary line from the middle of Harlow's World towards the sun. Sure enough, there was a Cylon Heavy Raider. He seemed to be alone, but then too, so had the one on the buoy recovery mission.

"_BeeCee Flight this is Quarterback. Copy_?" Kells voice was anxious but controlled. Keeping his demeanor would go a long way towards keeping Will Cately and Jahlee Rohs as calm as possible too. He looked over his left shoulder and floating majestically behind him was the Breaker Castle.

"_Quarterback this is BeeCee. Lima Charlie. We copy bogey inbound. We only see one on passive DRADIS. Bee Sting, do you have him_?"

Jahlee Rohs had been a few seconds behind the rest of the team in getting through translight, but she knew she'd jumped into a hornet's nest. "_BeeCee this is Bee Sting…Affirmative. One target closing on Scoreboard's position. Quarterback, what you wanna do_?"

Gunner Kells had to give it a moment's thought. The Cylons usually traveled in units of three yet here was a scout on his own…Or was he? But in any case, if the Cylon Raider made it to the surface and saw what was happening, there'd be a message to his compatriots and then "game over".

"_OK_…" Kells had to pull a game plan out, and quick. "_I'm going to FTL to his six and splash him from behind. Will, as soon as I jump you head for the surface. We may not have nearly half the time we'd hoped for. Jahlee, you cover him_!"

Jahlee Rohs double clicked her microphone switch. Seconds later Raptor One Romeo Alpha peeled off and then went translight. Jahlee went full forward on her sublight thrusters and headed directly for Harlow's World.

Right behind her was the Breaker Castle. Will Cately instinctively cinched up his own seat harness while he opened the "INTERSHIP" intercom. "This is it, guys, we're following Captain Rohs into Harlow's World. And be advised we have company. We only see one Heavy Raider right now, but the Raptor went after it before Mr. Badguy could invite any of his friends to come out and play…"

Down below, the Marines locked and loaded their rifles and sidearms. Each in turn looked over their own gear and then that of the Marine on either side of them. A slap on the shoulder and each knew that he or she was ready to go. Now, it was all down to the waiting.

As the Breaker Castle headed for the surface, Sven Robbins was mounting up in _FoxViper_ -8 Yankee Zulu. Two of the Center crew pulled the gantry away from the side of the Viper as the sublight engines spooled up and Robbins pulled at his safety harness. The crewmen made a mad dash for the safety of the blast doors. It only took 30 seconds until Sven had maneuvering power thanks to having left the Viper in combat alert mode. As soon as he had power he had the Viper moving.

He cranked in enough power to get the Viper off the deck and then bumped the stick forward. The ship gracefully coasted out of the safety of the revetment, and once he could see the tail clear the edge of the hangar, he pitched the nose up and thumbed the "TURBO" control on the stick. He'd be in space in 20 seconds. Finding the badguy wouldn't be a problem…All he had to do is fly towards the sun.

"_Quarterback this is Scoreboard, off and running from home plate. What's the action_?"

"_I'm tally-ho on one, Sven…Gimme a minute!" _Kells started in towards the Cylon Heavy Raider and selected guns hot. _ "I'm willing to bet they think the surface is dead. Stay low until I engage then join on me, OK_?"

Sven was already outside the atmosphere, but he backed off the turbos and let the nose pitch down. The Viper's AI projected Kells' Raptor and the bogey Cylon on the heads-up display. It looked like Kells might actually get the jump on him, but he was only half way to the Cylon when the Cylon turned to merge with Kells. "_He's got eyeballs on ya, Dewayne! He's turning to merge_!"

Kells could already see the Cylon maneuvering towards his Raptor. "_Sven, you got any other bogey's, either visual or DRADIS?"_

Robbins dropped his head into the cockpit for a few seconds and allowed the DRADIS to go active for a few seconds. Sure enough, there were two more Raiders 25,000 clicks back along the path this one had just come from. "_Tally-ho two more, Dewayne, but it looks like our fish hasn't alerted them yet because they aren't making any effort to get here very fast!_"

The Cylon was expecting Kells to come at him _power-on_ and to try and maneuver for a shot. That's what Colonial ships normally do. That's what Kells would have expected had he been on the other end of the stick. So that was exactly what he _wasn't_ going to do. Kells came to a complete stop and secured his forward collision lights.

The Cylon was accelerating. This was going to be close. Kells could see the distant glow of the infamous "red eye" scanner in the nose of the Raider as the gap closed. Kells flipped the weapons to "GUNS" under his left thumb and had the "TURBO" under the right thumb Closer, then closer yet, the Raider let a burst of rounds head in the Gunner's direction. Kells kept his position. Closer….closer….his finger was shaking on the stick so bad he wasn't certain he'd get the rounds off.

Suddenly the Gunner was firing. He hadn't even consciously thought the command to himself, but here he was doing it. One…two…then three seconds and the red eye in front of him vanished. He glanced through his head's-up display as the computer confirmed "ENEMY FIGHTER DESTROYED". Kells then hit the turbos and headed for the asteroid ahead of him. The two bogeys behind him would have certainly gotten into the game now and he'd have to be spot-on ready for the fight to come.

"_SPLASH ONE!"_ came Sven's excited voice over the wireless. "_Nice shooting Jarhead! Jahlee…You cover the BeeCee…looks like we're going to play a while_!"

"_Do you see more than two, Sven_?" Kells was arcing back towards the last known path the other Raiders were inbound on and rolling to match them wing's level.

"_Negative! Just two right now! Here they come! Let's split them up! I'm breaking starboard in two, one BREAK_!"

The _FoxViper_ laid over hard and away from Dewayne Kells' Raptor. Kells paused for a second, then broke left and pitched nose-relative up at the same time. Half way around the loop he pushed over into a reverse loop to bring the nose of the Raptor back into the kill zone, but the Raider was following him move-for-move. The Marine did an other hard break left then abruptly hard right, but the Cylon Raider was still pacing him. Only now there were Cylon rounds coming past his cockpit with alarming frequency.

"_SVEN! Seems Mr. Badguy is a bit more tenacious than I gave him credit for…Can you get in on this_?"

Robbins looked over his own shoulder and found that the other Cylon had dropped right in on his tail too. He made a mad break to left then again to the right, tucking under the turn as he came about. He looked up and cursed himself for having not had his head up and looking out because for a brief second the Cylon crossed his nose…A second that, if he'd been paying attention, a burst of KEW would have terminated the dogfight in Sven's favor .

"_I'm in a pretty tight dance here myself, Dewayne. If we can't shake them, let's at least drag them away from the surface! Let's outbound these guys and let Jahlee and Will get the BeeCee down and loaded_…!"

"_Works for me…I'll keep working this guy carem two seven zero and you head carem zero nine zero_…!" The Gunner was managing to keep his distance from the Cylon's guns, and the effort to drag the Cylon Raiders away from the surface seemed to be working.

As Kells rounded a small asteroid he saw ricocheting rounds hit the far side and deflect off into space. Now he was getting mad. Hadn't these guys killed enough people for one week? As he came around the back of the asteroid he stood on the reverse thrusters slowing to almost a slow stroll.

As the Cylon Raider rounded the debris field it was obvious that it was anticipating a similar tactic…Especially since it had just cost them a fellow Raider only seconds ago.

As the Raider came through the asteroid floe, it was aggressively trying to reverse direction but the deflection of the thrusters turned the wide underside of his ship to the Colonial Raptor. Without hesitation, Gunner Kells flipped the Weapons Control from "Guns" to "Missile" and let a Firesnake missile fly. The Raider wasn't even 500 meters away as the missile flew into the center mass of the craft. There was a bright light and then debris flying in all directions.

Kells was beside himself. Three bogeys and two of them were going to be silhouettes

painted on the side of the Raptor!

"_"SPLASH TWO, SVEN! Where are you…?!?!" _The Gunner rolled wings level relative to the asteroid's equator and headed back towards the fight on the opposite side of the asteroid.

Robbins had to look over his shoulder to get an exact idea of how far he was from the asteroid. Even with the head's up display plastering data on the inside of the cockpit it was still easier to just look out the windows. "_Looks like Homeplate is on my six and eight grand back. Mr. Badguy is on me like white on rice. Anytime you'd care to fly by would be deeply appreciated_!"

Kells thumbed the TURBO button and headed past Harlow's World. It would take him thirty seconds or more to catch up to Sven and his adversary. "_I'm on the way in. Keep walking the dog for thirty seconds and we'll send this one to the recycling heap too_!"

Sven was glad to know help was on the way, but there was something about this Cylon that didn't jive with his past experience. First of all was the fact that they had split up the patrol in the first place. Cylons usually patrolled in groups of three and wouldn't break up for any reason. One ship was the lead, and that was that. Where he went, the others went, and if the lead got wasted, the others went home automatically. Second was that it seemed like they were able to do some independent problem solving. Looks like the Cylons had indeed upgraded the software in the last 40 years.

Just as Sven looked over his left shoulder there was a _thumpthumpthump_ in the left wing that could only mean one thing…The Cylon had connected some rounds! Simultaneously the MASTER CAUTION light came on. Sven glanced over the indicators quickly and saw that he was dumping fuel and hydraulics from the left wing. He instantly isolated the systems of the left wing and selected the reserve systems.

_"DEWAYNE, I NEED YOU TO GET IN HERE NOW! I'M HIT!" _He wasn't quite yelling yet, but it was easy to tell that Sven was in a bad way.

The Gunner could see the Cylon on Sven's six as he tried to maneuver as abruptly as he could. Sven wasn't kidding…These were definitely a new breed of beasts, to be sure. Dewayne kept the turbos at full military power and closed the gap in seconds. "_Sven, is your FTL armed_…?!?!" Dewayne was closing to fire but didn't want to take the chance of hitting his friend instead.

Sven looked down and saw that he was indeed FTL green. It was still set for WAYPOINT 1 which would put him back on the other side of Harlow's World, only a light-second or two jump away, but it would take him out of the line of fire.

"_See you in a few seconds, Dewayne_!" Sven started to activate the FTL but Kells stopped him.

"_SVEN! Tap reverse thrust before you go FTL! He's close aboard_!"

Of course! The spatial distortion from the translight vortex would send the Cylon tumbling if not rip him open. Sven stomped on the forward breaking thrusters at the same time he hit the FTL initiate button.

Kells watched as Sven's Viper seemingly came to a dead stop and then disappeared into it's FTL vortex. The Cylon raider ran right up on the shockwave of the vortex. At first it seemingly glanced off the energy wave, but then it took on an eerie blue-white glow. A second later the Raider blew apart in a silent but spectacular explosion.

Dewayne watched the debris field of the Raider spread wildly. A few seconds later, a weak signal, like that of a ship many thousands of kilometers away broke through the squelch of the wireless and Kells recognized the voice of his friend, Sven Robbins.

"_Did it work_…?"

NINE

Aboard the Breaker Castle Will Cately was listening intently to the wireless traffic between Sven Robbins and Dewayne Kells. Although it sounded like they had the three Cylon Raiders pretty well tied up and well-away from the aerodrome below him he was still scanning furiously for any interlopers that may have slipped by.

Off of Cately's left wing, Jahlee Rohs was in Raptor -5 Sierra Bravo, again using the call sign Bee Sting. She too was scanning madly for any other unwanted traffic, but none was to be seen…At least for now. Nonetheless she was weapons free and had her finger on the trigger if need be.

The two ships descended together and headed straight for the aerodrome south of Harlow City. As they broke through the cloud deck Jahlee re-set her wireless to be sure she was on the very low power setting before keying the microphone. "_Harlow Center this is Bee Sting. How copy, break?_"

Adrian McElroy was on the approach wireless. "_Bee Sting this is Harlow, I authenticate bullseye, I say again bullseye. You're Lima Charlie. We have a handler on the ramp to direct you where to park the BeeCee, over."_.

Jahlee recognized the codeword that Sven had given her before she returned to Menno to indicate that the field was safe to approach. She momentarily pulled up along side the cockpit of the Breaker Castle and gave Will Cately a thumb's up. She could see Will relax a bit and give her a return thumb's up. Still, they weren't home free yet.

Will activated the INTERSHIP and tapped his headset microphone a bit closer to his lips. "We're thirty seconds to touchdown, everyone. Harlow reports _bullseye, _but everyone be careful anyway…" The Marines he was carrying were now his responsibility, and he wanted everyone who walked onto the Breaker Castle at Menno this afternoon to walk off of it on Menno this evening.

The aerodrome was clearly visible from 20 kilometers out and Will lined the BeeCee up with the runway. He could have used the thrusters to just drop the ship in to any parking space but that would have meant the area around the descent engines would be as hot as hell for quite a while. Since the plan was to load the Pods and get the people on board as quickly as possible they needed to keep the outside of the ship as cool as possible.

Brad Westling had moved up to the cockpit from "The Pit" since Cately would need the extra hands in the cockpit. Much of what he would have done in the Pit could be remoted to the Engineer's Station in the cockpit anyway, so he might as well lend a hand "upstairs." As they turned to land, Will called for the gear and Brad cycled it down. Brad then called out the airspeeds as the freighter gracefully glided over the end of the runway. Will gave the BeeCee one last slight pull on the nose to tweak the flare just as the main gear touched the runway with a welcoming bark. Will called for reverse thrust and Westling advanced the BeeCee's forward thrusters. Within seconds the BeeCee had slowed to a fast jog.

Will scanned the east end of the field but couldn't see anything that looked like a bunker. "They said that place was camo'ed, and by golly they meant it!" Try as he could, Cately couldn't see the "bunker" they were supposed to pick up twenty-one people and a number of cargo pods from.

As the BeeCee reached the last taxiway turnoff, Brad saw some movement off to his right and then saw the familiar bright yellow wands of a line marshaller. "There he is, Will! Two o'clock. They're in that corner!" Brad said.

As the BeeCee turned right, Cately could now see the gentle rolling outline of the bunkers under the natural foliage. No wonder the Cylons missed it. The only way to have hit this place would have been to nuke it or carpet bomb it.

As they pulled off of the runway and onto the ramp, Will started to swing the Breaker Castle wide to the left and then hard to the right in order to put the port side of the ship facing the bunkers. A woman in overalls signaled him where to turn and he dutifully followed her instructions. As they pulled up to the bunker, Greto Park dropped the port-side ramp door and nine Marines led by Corporal Jarvis rapidly disembarked to create a perimeter around the BeeCee.

The other four followed Sergeant Grant Lohan into the operations bunker.

Bio-bonding complete or not, Lohan wasn't going to miss this for the world.

As they arrived at the bunker door, they were met by Elliott Ward who held out his hand. Sergeant Lohan took his in turn and introduced himself. "Good afternoon, Sir, I'm Sergeant Grant Lohan, Colonial Fleet Marines. I understand you're looking for a ride off this rock…?!?!"

"Yes, Sergeant, we sure are!" Elliott Ward's initial glee at seeing the armed Marines was almost immediately tempered by the knowledge that Sven Robbins had left hastily to meet the Cylon Raiders they had seen on DRADIS. "Sergeant… Mr Robbins…is he alright?"

"I don't know, Sir…Captain Rohs will be in here shortly, you can check with her. In the meantime, we need to get those pods into the Breaker Castle and get out of here ASAP…" Sergeant Lohan wanted to be able to answer the man's questions, but he just didn't know and frankly, right now, it wasn't a priority.

"They're going to keep the engines on the freighter running, Sir. We need to get loaded and go! Please get your people moving now!"

"Certainly, certainly Sergeant…follow me." The Center director stepped past the Marine and headed back out the door the young warrior had just come in and then took a right turn to head towards the revetments.

As they exited the bunker, the young sergeant couldn't help but be somewhat awed by his surroundings. The skies over Harlow's World were as blue as any of the homeworlds, and he paused a few seconds to feel the warmth of the sun on his face. He had seen the devastation where Harlow City once stood, yet here he was, only a few kilometers away, and it was peaceful and serene. A warm breeze wafted across his face and he could detect the sweet fragrance of the wildeberry trees that bordered the aerodrome. He was sure that if it weren't for the BeeCee's engines, he'd be able to hear songbird music in the distance. How idyllic could this small world be?

They were no more than a dozen steps out of the door when Elliott Ward turned towards the young Marine raising his right arm as if to point something out. Suddenly, Ward stopped in his tracks. His chin slowly dropped to his chest, then lifted back up to look at Sergeant Lohan. His face was contorted in shock. Blood started to drool out of the corner of his mouth as red splotches sprang from his chest. He collapsed backwards onto the tarmac, dead, no doubt, before his head hit the ground.

Shifting his gaze from the suddenly stricken facility manager to the treeline behind him, Sergeant Lohan saw the source of the facility manager's demise: Cylons. And a lot of them. He instinctively keyed his wireless.

"_I-N-C-O-M-I-N-G ! ! ! !" _

The young sergeant yelled the warning into the microphone as he fell face first to the ramp. As he lifted his head up, he counted the shiny silver heads. What he could see appeared to be about a squad strength number of Cylon Centurions rising up from behind brush and approaching from the near end of the runway. Each of the monsters was over 2 meters tall and glistening in the low horizon sun. The "red eye" of their scanners was prominent even from this distance.

Although he couldn't hear the report of the rounds being fired at him over the engines of the Breaker Castle, Lohan could see the flashes from the Centurion's forearms and rooster tails of dust kicking up around his own feet.

Lohan didn't hesitate. He brought his rifle to bear and began returning fire. Over the wireless Corporal Jarvis was desperately calling. "_Whereaway the incoming, Boss…?!?!"_

"_NEAR EAST END, AL! THE END OF THE RUNWAY AT THE PERIMETER! We have a civvie down! They're only 200 meters away!"_

Lohan's first couple bursts of rounds missed their intended target but by the fourth or fifth burst he could see he was hitting the chrome bastards as they were obviously recoiling from the force of the rounds striking them. Chips of pavement were flying up around the Colonials as the Cylon rounds started to walk their way to their intended targets. Rooster-tails of debris struck at their feet. As the rate of fire from the Cylons increased the dirt devils being whipped up around him made his targeting worse. Nonetheless, the Marines kept their rounds aimed at the muzzle flashes in the distance and kept up their own rate of fire.

Suddenly the dirt flashes around him slowed and Sergeant Lohan was able to look over his left shoulder. Corporal Jarvis' team had brought their weapons to bear on the Cylon squad and the enemy was now having to divide their efforts between the detail around the Breaker Castle and the Lohan's team in front of the supply revetment.

The sergeant was looking left and right for more cover. Seeing none, he decided to try to get his people into the supply hangar. "_MY TEAM! Into the revetment!" _The sergeant was able to get to his feet and started a mad dash to the edge of the bunker only 10 meters away. Lohan zig-zagged hard but still checked the rest of his team. He needn't have worried as they were right in his footsteps.

As he made it to the cover of the revetment, Lohan leaped over a bulkhead, spun around to face the approaching threat, grabbing at the wireless on his chest and switched channels. "_Bee Sting! Bee Sting! This is Able Actual! Enemy combatants on the east end of the field in the open! We're taking fire! We have a civilian down! Danger close! Danger close!" _As he finished the radio call, Lohan brought his rifle to bear on the Cylons at the edge of the runway. He sighted carefully and could see the reticule in his scope lay directly across the chest of one of the Cylons. He fired a short burst and could see the rounds hit the hulking automaton mid-mass. The first few rounds seemingly bounced off, and for a brief second, the young sergeant was terrified. But he re-sighted his rifle and continued firing in repeated bursts of five rounds. Now he could see the rounds actually cause the Centurion to stagger backwards, then fall backwards in a flash of smoke and sparks.

One down.

Lohan's wireless announcement shocked Jahlee Rohs. How in the name of the Lords of Kobol had the Cylons managed to land Centurions on the surface and not be noticed? Unless, of course, they had already been here and were waiting for just such an opportunity? An ambush?

"_Able Actual, Bee Sting! Overhead in 10 seconds. Roger danger close!" _Jahlee rolled her Raptor over and pointed the nose at the east end of the field. Just as she did she saw the muzzle flashes of the Centurions firing at the Marines that were surrounding the BeeCee. Worse yet, she could almost see the faces of the Marines as they laid upon the ramp firing back at the Cylons. "_Bee Sting rolling in weapons hot! Able Actual, hit the deck!" _

Sergeant Lohan looked out at Jarvis's Marines and could see that they had obviously heard the wireless call as they were proned out and returning fire to the end of the runway. Unable to hear the sound of the gunfire or the approaching Raptor over the BeeCee's engines, the whole scene seemed surreal.

Lohan directed his team to keep rounds on the Centurions while he quickly unvested a pair of video recording binoculars. He got a bead on the Centurions that were firing on them and started the recording. Although they bore a resemblance to the hundreds of photos they had trained with and the targets they had shot up, these were obviously not the same machines his father and grandfather had fought 40 years ago. Not only were they bigger and carrying built-in firearms, they were also able to take one hell of a lot of rounds before they stopped. Of the dozen or more Centurions that started the attack, six were still in the fight and they appeared to be able to maneuver quite effectively.

At just that moment, Jahlee Rohs passed overhead in her armed Raptor and unleashed a torrent of high-density explosive rounds. Lohan could feel the pulsing of the rounds firing, even in the presence of the still-idling engines of the Breaker Castle. The force of the ordnance hitting the ground actually dug a trench as the rounds found their targets. In a matter of seconds the other six Cylons that Lohan could see were decimated.

Lohan keyed his wireless. "_Bee Sting, Actual, nice shooting, Ma'am! Looks like you cleaned house! Can you confirm any movement from altitude?"_

It had been many years since Jahlee Rohs had pulled the trigger on live rounds, and those were in deep space. Nonetheless, it was almost as if it were just yesterday. Her gunnery and flight instructors had told her that training hard and training often usually meant the difference between going home, or going home in a bag. Now she knew what they meant. She hadn't had to think twice about what she was doing…It was automatic, even after all of these years.

Rohs pulled up from her strafing pass, making circle back around the end of the field. She pulled up hard and almost rolled inverted in order to get her eyes on the target area as soon as she could as she rolled over. She strained up over her shoulders to look into the densely wooded end of the aerodrome but couldn't see anything else moving. Nor could she see any tell-tale reflections of polished metal the likes of which she just blew up. She continued the loop maneuver and pulled through the bottom. _"Able Actual, Bee Sting! I don't see any more movement in the woods! It looks clear!"_ She rolled wings level, then broke to her right in order to turn back towards the aerodrome, heading towards the area where the Breaker Castle was parked. She could see the Marines in the fire circle re-grouping. But what caught her eye next almost tied a knot in her stomach. She could see a body laying in a widening pool of blood just yards away from the Breaker Castle.

"My Gods…" The starfreighter captain's heart was banging in her chest.

On the ground, Sergeant Lohan scanned the far end of the field and couldn't see anything. The rooster tails of dirt and bits of tarmac had stopped falling as the smoke from weapons fire on both sides wafted across the field. The two Marines next to him were still putting rounds downrange and he ordered them to cease fire. As he stood up, he scanned the edge of the field again via the battle optics.

From his vantage point in the revetment, nothing was moving except for the exhaust of the BeeCee's sublight engines and the rivulets of perspiration now coming off his forehead from under his helmet. The firefight had only lasted for two, maybe three minutes, but they had been _intense_ minutes!

As he wiped the sweat from his brow, Lohan watched as Captain Rohs' Raptor pulled into a hover next to the Breaker Castle then gently settled to the ground. As the door on Raptor Five Sierra Bravo slowly lifted, Dewayne Kells and Sven Robbins arrived overhead. A trail of smoke followed Sven's left wing but there was no fire and it seemed like the FoxViper was under control. Sven broke to the left and Dewayne followed suit a few seconds later.

"_Bee Sting this is Quarterback. Is everyone alright_?" Kells' voice came across the wireless.

Jahlee paused for a second. "_I'm not sure…Able Actual reports one civvie KIA. I don't know who it is_…"

There was a long pause. For a few seconds, the only sound was that of the engines of the Breaker Castle, and it was probably those engines that shook everyone back to reality.

"_Alright, Jahlee…OK…We've got to get out of here before they invite their friends to come and play too_." Kells paused for a second then changed channels on the wireless. "_Able Actual this is Quarterback, how copy_?"

Grant Lohan was getting his team back on their feet when Gunner Kells called.

"_Quarterback, Able Actual. We're OK but Harlow Actual is KIA. The rest of the package is still in the nest. We're moving to get the pods loaded on the BeeCee now_…"

Robbins was on short final to the runway when he heard the wireless traffic. He'd only known Elliott Ward two days, but he knew they'd just lost a good man.

"_Roger that, Able Actual. Get them moving and let's get the frak out of here! We've had enough excitement for one day. Let's head for the barn!"_

TEN

Dewayne Kells made a wide orbit of Menno Seven Three as the Breaker Castle lined up to land at bay six. Although there was no immediate evidence of lurking Cylons, they'd taken the long way home with several FTL jumps to seemingly random waypoints.

Will Cately and the Breaker Castle team performed splendidly. After the firefight, Bob Blizzard and Evelyn Weiss helped Greto Park load the six pods into the BeeCee with forklifts that they had trucked over from the warehouse. The Approach Center crew had loaded the one with cannibalized gear from the Center itself. It was one hell of a packing job, too, as the pods all maxed out at their gross weight and then some. Although it was no strain for the BeeCee to make it back into space with the six pods and 20 extra passengers, Will Cately could definitely tell he was carrying the extra load until they made it to the zero-gee of deep space.

In Pod One, Sergeant Lohan and his Marines de-briefed the events on the surface. Of most interest to the young NCO was the video card from his optics. He couldn't wait to get them back to the Intel trailer and download the pictures. As far as he knew, they might be the only people left alive in the universe to have seen these new Centurions and lived to tell about it.

Sven and Jahlee had already made it into Bay Four and were waiting on Dewayne to bring his bird in and call it a day. Sven's FoxViper would have to go into the shop to let the deck apes work it over. That it didn't explode when the three rounds went through the left wing was a miracle in itself. Certainly an older Mark II Viper wouldn't have taken that kind of punishment and survived. Whatever they did to upgrade this bird to a "Mark II Fox", he'd have to congratulate the guys in the factory someday.

As the Harlow's World survivors off-loaded from the BeeCee, Ayellen Ballew and several of her staff met them at the hatch and offered them coffee and blankets. They then loaded them four-at-a-time into taxi carts and transported them to the housing facility where they'd now take up residence. For people who had been breathing unfiltered air and enjoying real sunlight only a few hours ago, the assimilation would undoubtedly be rough. But given that they had come within hours, maybe minutes, of being Toaster Fodder, maybe the alternative wouldn't be that hard to bare afterall.

Before they began moving the pods and people out to the BeeCee, the Marines had taken a yellow tarp and covered Elliott Ward's remains on the ramp. Some thought had been given to bringing him along and burying him in space, however it was known to all his associates that he loved Harlow's World as much as life itself. That his remains would be left there for eternity would be perfectly OK by him, they were sure. So be it.

After the Gunner landed and finished the shut-down on his own ship, he went looking for Sven Robbins. It wasn't like him to not be there after a mission for the wind-down.

He climbed out of his environment suit and then his flight suit, taking a quick shower before putting his uniform back on. Someone, from Ayellen Ballew's office no doubt, had made the effort to leave clean towels and gear in each locker. Although he usually liked to spend a few minutes in a good hot shower, the Gunner was in-and-out in a couple of minutes. A shame, too, as the days of long showers were probably a thing of the past.

Coming out of operations, Gunner Kells ran into one of the Menno operations clerks and asked her if she'd seen Robbins. She just pointed to the third door down that very hall and went on about her way.

Dewayne strode over to the glass-paned doors. Over the top of the door was a simple black-and-white sign: CHAPEL.

He walked in to the dimly-lit room and gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust. There, in the center-left side of the small sanctuary sat his old friend. He slid in to the bench just behind Sven and just to his right. The weary Marine reached up and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. He thought to say something, but then thought better of it. The only thing that could salve their wounds now was silence.

ELEVEN

Gunner Kells, Sven Robbins and Alastair Kohn sat in a semi-circle around the desk of Samantha O'byea. Ayellen Ballew, David Garza and Dan O'Banion sat at the opposite end of the table along with Senior Chief Teague and Dr. Sayid. Specialist Kevin Payge re-ran the video from the recon mission to Aerilon, pausing every so often to more closely examine the scenes of devastation that were before them.

As the last picture faded from the viewer the Facility Administrator sat back in her high-topped chair and turned back towards the others.

"So…where do we go from here?" Her tone was flat, almost resigned to what they had just seen. "Alastair…what were they able to retrieve from Harlow?"

The Port Master flipped through the clip board on his lap. "I really don't have a complete manifest yet, Samantha. I do know they came out with six pods, four of which were food. Each of those pods was only supposed to carry 4000 kilos but according to the BeeCee's flight engineer the food pods were more like 6000 each."

Samantha O'byea tried running the numbers of how many kilos of food each of the residents would need but she couldn't seem to concentrate on the figures. No matter how she did the math, whatever they had here wasn't going to keep Menno Seven Three going indefinitely.

"You said earlier that there was more left behind on Harlow, Dewayne?" The Marine knew where Alastair Kohn's question was leading.

Kells turned to Sven Robbins. "Sven, how much was there?"

"I didn't see it myself, but the two Harlow technicians that loaded the pods said there were four warehouses of food stuffs and other supplies still there. They loaded what they could but were told they could only get five pods. They got four of food plus that medical pod." Sven stopped for a few seconds and then looked around at the others in the room. "We loaded a sixth pod with the cannibalized electronics from the center."

After collecting his thoughts for a second, Sven continued. "I know what's on your mind, but consider this: by now the Cylons know that one of their combat patrols and an infantry squad haven't returned or reported in. Worse yet, they called it in before we got out. They know where we were last. They'll investigate and find their friends blown up and a dead human on the ramp. They're going to be expecting us, or at least other humans, to come foraging for food at some time. I don't think we'll get away as clean a second time as we did this time."

Alastair Kohn looked up from his own notes. "Can we expect them to come looking for us, Sven? Is there any way they can trace us?"

"Well…_Our_ current technology doesn't permit it, but that's not to say that the Cylon's might've not figured it out. There's no trail to follow in a translight jump like there is if someone's simply boating across the galaxy on sublight engines. Anyone can follow an ion trail in their sleep. There's nothing to follow in a translight jump."

It was Dr. Sayid that broke the silence. "Mr. Garza and I have been taking stock of our stores. We have the resources to lay low for _maybe_ a year. But we'll be at each other's throats by then, even with forty kilometers of tunnels to stretch out in."

Samantha O'byea nodded understandingly. "Speaking of which, Ayellen, you were conducting a census. What exactly are the numbers?" Samantha O'byea wasn't so interested in how comfortable her guests were as she was in fitting numbers into an equation to figure out how long the provisions on-hand might last.

Although Ayellen Ballew was caught by surprise by the question, she wasn't caught unprepared. "Uhhhh…yes Ma'am…Including the twenty people just brought back from Harlow's World we have two hundred fifty seven. That's forty-three less than we would have had with a full mining and support staff, but as you know we were between shift changes when all of this happened."

"Well…I guess it's good that we don't have every bunk filled right now." Samantha glanced around the table and caught the eye of David Garza. "David, I'll need you and Dr. Sayid to work up some kind of dietary routine for us. The sooner we can get people used to whatever limitations we are going to have to impose the better."

Dr. Sayid and David Garza briefly glanced at each other and then back to the head of the table to acknowledge the task to Samantha. She was right, of course. Whatever food was here now was going to have to last a while.

Samantha O'byea then turned back to the table and flipped the pages of her notes. She then looked to Don O'Banion.

"Mr. O'Banion, I have a new task for you if you're up to it." Samantha saw that she had caught the mining foreman off guard, and perhaps that was best. Don't give your next volunteer the time to say no! "Warren Bledsoe, the Industrial Manager went home to Leonis for vacation two weeks ago. It's safe to say he won't be back. Will you take over as Industrial Engineer?"

O'Banion certainly _was_ caught off guard. He'd have to take over keeping the lights on, the water recycler going and the air scrubbers and purifiers running. Considering that there was no likelihood of replacement parts anytime soon, calling the job 'a challenge' was an understatement, at best.

He paused for a moment, but then raised his head confidently. "Certainly, Ms O'byea. I'd be glad to." He glanced at Alyssa Teague who was sitting next to him. She slowly mouthed the words "You'll regret that later!" without saying them out loud and with a slightly evil grin. He was sure she was right but all he could do right now was manage a sheepish grin of his own and shrug his shoulders.

Sitting quietly on the side was Alastair Kohn. He had been right to reconsider his assessment of Samantha O'byea. Wherever she was pulling this from, it was prudent and reasonable. Whatever diva queen attitude she'd had when she first arrived at Menno Seven Three had since dissipated. And they were all the better for it.

TWELVE

Sergeant Grant Lohan entered Bay Four via the small access door at the edge of the hangar as the main door was closed. For a moment it was almost as if he were back on the Galactica. Closest to the main door was a Mark II Viper with sleeves and flags over the KEW barrels with the ominous words "ARMED & COMBAT READY" embossed on them. Next to the Viper was a Raptor with the same banner on it's weapons. Beyond that were the other fighters in one stage of maintenance or another.

Throughout the bay were the sounds of industry. Swarming over the battle damaged _FoxViper_ were several of Senior Chief Teague's deck crew. From the underside was the ratcheting of an air impact wrench as someone worked on the main landing struts. On the left wing were two technicians in welding gear, obviously well into returning the wounded Viper to the battle as soon as possible. Lohan stood and watched for a moment, intent on not disrupting their efforts.

Just then the bluish flames of the welder stopped and the man wielding the torch flipped his safety visor up. Behind the visor was the man Sergeant Lohan was looking for, Specialist Kevin Payge. The other man flipped his visor up and revealed one of the Anderson brothers who was obviously supervising the young avionics technician.

Lohan walked over to the Viper. "Specialist Payge?"

Kevin looked up from his work to see the Marine sergeant approach. "Yep, that's me, and as you can see I've already enlisted!" Lohan could tell he was going to like this guy already.

"Yeah, yeah…I get that all the time…I was told that you were the man to see about getting my binocular optics downloaded and screened? "

Payge handed the welding torch to Jerrod Anderson, popped his welding helmet off and let himself slide down the short wing to the floor. "Well, that would be me. There's only two avionics techs here and the other one is in some topside meeting right now."

"So how'd you wind up doing the welding chores?" Lohan may be a garden variety grunt, but he knew the difference between a soldering iron and a gas welder.

"Easy, Sarge…There's only eleven of us deck apes and only five are qualified mechs. We're going to be cross training each other over the next few weeks. We might even let a grunt come down here and do some wrench-bending…if you're bored…?"

"Sure…if you'd like to come down to the South Pole and cross train in the CQB house!" Lohan was sure that would be a wasted invitation. A lot of the fleet guys were wannabe Marines that didn't want to undergo Marine training. But somehow Lohan knew Payge was different…They'd have plenty of time to find out.

"Maybe…so where's the disk?" Payge motioned to Sergeant Lohan to follow him as Lohan handed over the disk. As they headed to the back of the bay they worked their way around the nose of one Viper then around the exhaust pipes of a Raptor to get to the maintenance pods at the rear of the bay. Over the door of the next-to-last pod was a sign that just said "INTEL".

"Here, slide these on." Payge handed Lohan a pair of what appeared to be flimsy cloth covers for his boots. "Helps to cut down on dust and foreign debris in the circuitry" Payge explained. Lohan just hoped that none of his fellow Marines saw him with these booties on.

"So let's see what you've got, Sarge." Payge took the binoculars from the young Marine and popped the access slot open pulling the data card out. He spun around and popped open a slot cover on the viewer. He checked to make sure he was putting the card in the right way and then slid the card in fully. After a moment the screen went dark blue and then the video started.

Sergeant Lohan was amused when Payge abruptly fell off his stool as the first view of the Cylons came up on the viewer. One second the screen was blank, then suddenly Payge was "eye-to-eye" with a squad of Cylon Centurions. The screen of the viewer they were using was itself almost a full meter across so everything on it was bigger-than-life. It was natural that the untrained technician flinched…especially when the Cylon in the cross-hairs of the viewer seemingly looked right at him as tracer rounds "flew in". That the sergeant hadn't been hit was nothing short of a miracle.

Payge collected himself and got back on the stool in front of the scanner. He hit the "freeze" button just as two more of the hulking Centurions appeared. "Damn, Sarge. How far away were you from these guys?" The young specialist was obviously glad that it had been someone else in that firefight and not him.

"Oh…I'd say not any more than 200 meters…maybe…"

"Well..if you want to leave this with me I'll get the scan done and let you know what I see."

"OK…yeah, just let me know if you see any green monsters in there, alright?" The sergeant offered Payge his hand and Payge took it.

"No problem…You know where to find me. And Sarge…I'd take those booties off before the Gunner sees you!"

For the first time in his adult life, Sergeant Lohan did something he thought almost impossible…He blushed. "Yeah. Thanks…"

The Marine bent over, slid the covers off of his boots and headed towards the exit he had come through only 15 minutes before. As he did, Kevin Payge turned back to the scanner that held the stopped frame and pushed the "resume" button. He sat back and watched as the firefight continued. The engines of the Breaker Castle could be heard running, but the sergeant's wireless interface was also plugged in so all of the communications could be heard too.

Payge moved to the edge of his seat as he watched the battle unfold. The view kept bouncing around as the Marine was obviously ducking fire and then returning fire himself. At one point it was apparent that Sergeant Lohan had set the optics down and was engaging the Cylons with his service rifle. Payge could hear the _wamwamwamwam _of the Marine's weapon and then see the resulting impacts on one of the Cylons in the viewer. A second series of rounds went down range and the Cylon was sheared in half at the waist. "_Good shooting, Jarhead_!" Payge burst out loud.

Just after he saw the Marine's kill of the Cylon, Captain Rohs' Raptor flew into the viewfinder. Payge marveled at the sight of the high explosives tearing up the end of the runway, then the berm, and finally the six Cylons. Following each round hitting the ground was a muted "thud" that always followed a split second later, the sound traveling slower than light.

As the last Cylon fell the background noise dropped back to just that of the BeeCee's engines and the sounds of someone rustling around behind the optics. Payge could hear Sergeant Lohan checking his on his own team, then calling Corporal Jarvis on the wireless to get a sitrep on the team that had set the defensive perimeter around the BeeCee.

At that point, Payge could tell that Sergeant Lohan had picked his binoculars up but had failed to switch the record function off. For a moment, all he could see were random, meaningless swings from pavement to horizon as Sergeant Lohan ran across the flightline to the site where the Harlow Center supervisor had fallen in the attack. Lohan had obviously come to a stop and several people were stooped over the body of the older man. The optics weren't stabilized and the view kept wavering, but it was enough for the specialist to see how horrifically Elliott Ward had met his end.

Suddenly the picture steadied as it was apparent that Sergeant Lohan had set his combat load belt down. As it happened, it was facing back towards the end of the runway where the firefight had just occurred. It was apparent that the Marine had forgotten to turn the optics off as Payge could even hear the occasional wireless calls and people yelling over the sound of the BeeCee's engines.

He was about to stop the download, but as he reached for the "pause" button, he thought he saw something…Something moving…Something _chrome_ and moving.

Payge let the video run for another half minute and saw nothing at first. He stopped the video and ran it back sixty seconds and then let it resume running forward. He zoomed in, and sure enough there was one, then two Cylon Centurions moving from just behind the spot where the group of six were destroyed by Captain Rohs' pass in the Raptor.

They were headed for the cover of the treeline only forty or fifty meters behind them. Payge couldn't be sure but he thought they were carrying something.

He ran the video back again and then advanced it, but at half speed. There were the Cylons rising up from behind the berm. One of the Cylons had obviously sustained quite a bit of damage as it was missing it's left arm and had a considerable amount of scorching on it's chest.

The other Cylon wasn't damaged, however, and it was apparent it that it was lumbering slowly for some reason. Payge slowed the video down yet again and then zoomed in on the scene once more. Sure enough, the Cylon was moving slowly, but not because it was trying to assist its fellow automaton, but rather because it appeared to be carrying something.

Payge backed up one more time and zoomed in yet closer. The picture was getting blurry due to the over-magnification, but there it was. He _was_ carrying something…

Or rather some_one._

_A woman!_


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

_Black is White, White is Black_

Chapter One

To characterize the mood in the conference room as "shocked" would be an understatement.

Specialist Payge ran the video through three times and each time they re-ran the last few seconds a little bit slower and at greater magnifications. Finally the picture was so blurred that you wouldn't even recognize the Cylons as such if you didn't already know what they were.

"So how is it we didn't see these guys the first time?" The Gunner was more than a bit miffed that the team hadn't set a wider security watch after the firefight.

"That's on me, Sir." Sergeant Lohan was quick to admit his tactical error. "Captain Rohs called all clear on the target and I only set two sentries to watch the ramp as we loaded. I should have left the defensive perimeter in place until we pulled out." It was apparent the young Marine NCO was upset over the missed opportunity.

Sven Robbins was quick to add his observations. "Don't be too hard on him, Dewayne. It looked all clear to me too. Jahlee blew the hell out of two acres of real estate. I circled twice and didn't see anything moving. I would have made the same call." Sven knew that now wasn't the time to be pointing fingers. The fact was the Breaker Castle got out without any casualties other than Elliott Ward and that was the important part.

At the table were Adrian McElroy and Sasha Vreeling, now the two most senior members of the Harlow's crew since Ward's death. "Gunner, if I may…?" McElroy had his hand raised and was anxious to add in his comments too. The Gunner acknowledged him and he stood at his seat.

"Sir, I was up on the berm of the bunker until just before the Breaker Castle arrived and had that whole area under observation. I didn't see anything move before they got there and as you can see it was pretty heavily wooded. Anyway, even if they _had _seen them what would we have done? We just got ambushed by a force of unknown strength…who knows _what _resources the Toasters had behind that treeline?"

The Gunner gave some pause to McElroy's words, especially since Sven had briefed him on McElroy's previous experience. This wasn't some punk kid chiming in…He knew his business.

"OK…you're right. We couldn't have gone in after them and I would've balked at letting you go had I been there. But we've got two things to worry about now. Do we go back, and if we do, what do we do when we get there?" The Gunner realized that this wasn't going to be as clear-cut a decision as going back for twenty people had been. Now they would have to consider the lives of an insertion team as opposed to one single hostage who may or may not be alive right now.

", is there any likelihood that, whoever that is, it might be one of your folks?" The Senior Chief didn't know what to make of all of this, but she was a bit incredulous at the idea that there would have been a stray survivor poking around on the far end of the runway.

"No, Chief…As it so happens all of the female staff that was assigned to Harlow Center was evacuated on the Breaker Castle. I wouldn't have been at the Center that night except I had to come in and do some after-hours paperwork. I'm damned lucky to be alive…And doubly lucky to be here." The relief in Sasha's voice was palpable. Living inside a spinning rock may not be as idyllic as Harlow's World, but she _was_ alive.

"So…Anyone got any ideas as to who that might be and how the Cylons came to have her?" The Gunner's voice was a bit exasperated. He looked around the table and everyone had their heads down and were grimly shaking them negatively.

"Is there any chance it was a scare crow, Gunner? Bait to see if we'd follow them in order to 'rescue' the decoy?" Kevin Payge's question raised eyes around the table.

The Gunner glanced at Sven to see his reaction to Payge's suggestion. Robbins gave him a begrudgingly affirmative shrug. "Sounds plausible, but we never saw the Cylons exercise those sort of deceptive tactics before. Of course we never saw them sneak in and blow up a whole star system before, either…" Sven could see his old friend's mind working to find some pattern to the Cylons' actions.

"McElroy, what's on the opposite side of that treeline?" Robbins had over-flown the same spot but couldn't remember any roads or pathways on that side of the runway. "Were there any access roads or bike paths back there?"

"No Sir…Just the out buildings that housed the NAVAIDS for the aerodrome. There was only a small fence around the field…Just high enough to keep what little wildlife there is off of the runway. We never had a "security" issue per se, so there never was a real security barrier like you'd see on one of the home worlds."

"So…we have no conceivable reason to expect anyone to be back there in the first place, but there they are." Kells was talking out loud, not to anyone in particular, but certainly to raise a point. The video on the conference room viewer was frozen on the scene of the Centurion carrying the "woman" into the treeline.

"Gunner…May I say something here?" asked Lohan.

"Sure Sergeant…What's on your mind?"

"Well Sir…It's been just over a week now and we've not heard from the Fleet, but we can't assume that just because we haven't heard from them that they're not out there. Either way, we're at war." The sergeant paused and took a long sip on the glass of water in front of him before continuing. "We know that the Cylons blasted the hell out of Aerilon and Azur'a yet they left Harlow in relatively one piece. Why?"

The sergeant was reaching for something. Maybe if he just said it out loud some mystic answer would come to him. Or maybe not. "That means they're up to something there. Shouldn't we try to drop a recon team in, see what there is to see, and then have a sitrep ready in case we _are_ able to re-establish contact? And if along the way we _happen_ to find that hostage, then so much the better." The young sergeant paused to try and get a feel for the reactions around the table. "We may even be able to plan for an other supply run with the BeeCee if we can determine where the Cylons are and what they're after, couldn't we?" More food was always a good thing and a strong motivator, he thought.

If Sergeant Lohan had demonstrated some bad judgment in setting out extra sentries, he was trying to make up for it now, thought the Gunner. And it was apparent that he was looking for a good reason to go back to Harlow. If not to find out if there were more survivors, at least to go back for more supplies and maybe redeem himself for having not seen those Cylons.

"Sven, have we got tactical maps of Harlow?" The Gunner's wheels started turning. If there was going to be a second mission it would be more precisely planned than the first mission…and that was a _big _'if.' They got off lucky the first time. The Cylons would be watching for them this time.

Sven sat with his hands folded in his lap and was obviously preparing whatever it was he was going to say carefully. "Yeah…The Intel trailer in Bay Four has a full set of recon maps of all of the occupied bodies within the Perimeter. But do we really want to start trying to plan any operational missions in our current circumstances?" If Dewayne Kells had ever heard Sven Robbins suggest anything like "restraint" this was at least the first time he could _remember_ it!

"I'm not so sure that now isn't the time to do some recon, Sven. If I just smacked someone down as hard as we just got smacked, I'd not be expecting them to get up again real soon…Maybe a bit of brazen recon might catch them off guard…?"

Sergeant Lohan had been sitting quietly at the end of the conference table fully expecting the Gunner to disapprove of his idea to do a recon to Harlow, but it was pretty apparent that quite the opposite was happening! Lohan scooted forward in his seat, anxious for a reaction from the Gunner and Mr. Robbins. He didn't have to wait long.

"Sergeant Lohan…Wanna plan a sneak-and-peak?" The Gunner could see the sergeant smile without even lifting his head up from his notes.

"Sir…can I ask a favor?" Adrian McElroy seemed on the edge of his own seat. The Gunner looked up and nodded to him. "I'd like to get in on this. I know the neighborhood. I also know some uncharted features that might make it easier on your team!"

Gunner Kells looked at McElroy and then to Sergeant Lohan. "Works for me, Skipper. I'll leave Jarvis here as Corporal of the Guard and take two more with me. A four person team will give us the manpower to get'er done yet be light enough to travel fast."

Gunner Kells looked around the table and then stood up. "Sergeant Lohan, mission profile on my desk in twelve hours. If I like what I see you go in three days with a surface time of 96 hours. Any questions?"

TWO

"_Come in!" _

The knock on Sven Robbins' door was unexpected and startled him out of a sound nap. It had been a long time since he'd fallen asleep on the couch like that, but then what was "normal" around here in the last few days anyway?

The door swung open and a bottle of Highlander whiskey preceded the person who had done the knocking. It might have been Dan O'Banion except that he recognized the Academy ring on one of the fingers holding the bottle.

"C'mon in, Dewayne…My pistol's still in the holster."

Dewayne Kells followed the bottle of Highlander through the door then bumped the door closed with one elbow. In the other arm was a bag that looked like groceries. "What did you do, Dewayne? Rob the chow hall?"

"Yeah, something like that. Neither one of us has had 10 minutes to eat since I came in on the BeeCee and I thought we'd do some catching up. You've got a stove in this flat, don't you?"

"Over there…I never use it. It might blow up when you turn it on." Sven was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his old friend set the bag on the counter. "Don't really have any glasses but there are some plastic cups next to the sink."

The Marine went about pulling a couple of steaks out of the bag along with some kind of canned veggies while Sven got his bearings. "Still take yours on-the-rocks?" Kells thought to ask how an electric stove might blow up, but hey, this had been the week of stranger-than-fiction things happening. No use pushing his luck just right now. He threw some salt and pepper on the steaks and slid them into the broiler.

"Sure do…Man it's been almost two decades since we last had a drink together and you remember that? Seems I remember that didn't turn out so well." Robbins' drew a smirk when he remembered the brawl on Harlow's World. "

"You sure this is a good idea?" The irony of being on yet another small rock in deep space was almost funny.

"No problem…I'm not driving and we're not having more than a couple…Besides, I only saw two cases of this stuff in the warehouse. We're gonna have to take it easy!"

The Gunner popped the cork from the whiskey bottle and poured an inch into each of the cups. He held the one up to Sven who took it and then tapped his against Dewayne's.

"Here's to whatever tomorrow will bring."

The Gunner returned the tap and they both slammed back the shots. Both of them took a deep gasp as the drink hit the bottom. "Sheesh, Sven, I thought that they'd give you guys some better booze out here!"

They sat down at the small kitchenette and listened to the sounds of the clock ticking on the wall for a moment. It was a peaceful moment in a bad situation and they both knew it. Lord's knew that these would be few and far between now. What better way to spend it than with a friend.

After a long moment of solitude, Sven broke the silence. "So Dewayne, I appreciate you coming all the way down the hallway to see me, but I hardly imagine you were so desperate for a date tonight…What's up?"

Dewayne admired Sven's ability to read another's affect so well…he just wished he wouldn't use it _on him!_.

"You're right…as usual…About this recon mission, that is. I got the idea in the conference room that you have some reservations about the idea. That about right?"

Sven was impressed. He thought he'd been as stoic as possible while it was being passed around the table, but he was obviously getting rusty. "Yeah…yeah you're right." His efforts to not be the wet rag on what had been an emotional moment for the others had been noticed.

"I'm not so sure we need to do this, Dewayne. Current circumstances notwithstanding, I'm still the security honcho here and the last thing I want to have happen is to have a Cylon patrol show up…Or worse yet, a Cylon baseship. Doing some hit-and-run raiding and jumping away is one thing, but if we get found out here, that's it…the game's up."

Sven's voice had a certain tone of resignation to it. Not that he was about to curl up into a ball and quit now, no way. But maybe he'd been on one mission too many…slept in one too many fox holes too far away from home.

Home….

Home had become a series of bases, outposts, Battlestars and Star Cruisers. Afterall, he'd never owned a piece of real estate in his life. Now there was just a rental cottage on Virgon and his quarters here. Well…there _was_ a rental cottage on Virgon.

When they got back from the Aerilon hop, Sven had been met by his daughter, Bekka. Maybe that was a wake-up call. Besides, Bekka was all that was left of his family.

Sven was ready to quit the Surveillance Teams after his second rotation. He was almost out when he decided that a continuing paycheck beat the spectre of looking for work and hunger. With the prospect of no immediate employment, he decided to re-enlist. Besides, it wasn't as if he had any responsibilities holding him in any one place, now was it?

That was when he met Bekka's mother, Ya'lea.

They'd met at the NCO club on Colonial Forces Base 327 on Picon. It was mid-week of the Summer Solstice, and Robbins and several of his shipmates had already been partying pretty hard. The ritual was a week long observance for the faithfully religious, but for the warriors of CFB 327, it was just an excuse to party to excess. That was one tradition that Robbins and his friends didn't need any encouragement to perpetuate!

The sweltering heat of summer had pushed the revelers inside, and the fever pitch of the enthusiastic crowd only added to it. Music blasted from a dozen speakers and colored lights glittered off of thousands of shards of irregularly-placed glass throughout the dance hall. Ambrosia flowed like water, as did beer and the smoke of hundreds of half-consumed, discarded and trampled-upon cigarettes and cigars. Yet Sven Robbins and his team-mates managed to hold down several tables in one corner of the club, and none of the 'regular' fleet types dared to cross the imaginary border that excluded the Special Surveillance Team warriors from the deck apes. They had long since lost track of time and moral propriety as the night grew longer and the music got louder, but _that_ line in the sand was inviolable.

Whatever drew Sven's attention away from the back-slapping and groveling that he and his friends were embroiled in, it suddenly sent a sobering flash of lucidity to the young warrior's brain. Sven's attention was drawn to the front door of the club as he could see light from the street cast shadows across the front of the club as the new arrivals entered.

The silhouettes were decidedly female.

Sven saw 'her' the moment she walked into the club with her two friends. Even in his alcohol-induced buzz, Sven Robbins knew that someone special had just entered his life. Until that moment, he had absolutely no interest in anything that suggested 'relationships' or 'obligations'. In a second, that all changed, and somehow _he knew it_. It was if the Heaven's had opened and all of the songbirds of the world began to sing in harmony.

Bekka Ya'lea Evans was the very vision of beauty. The din in the club actually abated briefly as she entered it. She was almost tall enough to look Sven in the eye, and her deep blue eyes accented the long, mid-back length blonde locks that flowed over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. That she had a figure that any Caprican fashion model would envy didn't hurt. It was as if Aphrodite had sculpted Ya'lea by her own hand. The Gods must certainly be angry tonight as one of their angels had fallen among the mere mortals this evening.

Robbins' friends immediately caught on to his fixation and the ribbing soon began. They started teasing him into going over and asking her to dance, only to assure him that his advances would probably be rebuffed. That certainly didn't help his self-esteem issues where women were involved. Despite his willingness to go toe-to-toe with all enemies foreign and domestic, he still had zero-point-zero confidence where the opposite sex was concerned. And right now, he was choking on the difference. A woman _that _beautiful certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with an enlisted grunt like him…_would she?_

It took more than a couple rounds of beer for Sven to even get the courage to _think_ about how he might breach this obstacle! But after what seemed like gallons of alcohol, his friend's cajoling and his own fear that if he didn't do this, he'd always wonder…'what if…?'

It took more self-convincing than he thought it should, but Sven finally got up the intestinal fortitude to walk over and offer to buy her a drink. Still, half way there, he balked. He stopped cold. He did an about face and quickly two-stepped back over to the table where his buddies were now catter-walling and jeering him for his "cowardice in the face of the enemy."

He took a swig of the beer that one of the guys shoved into his hands and then swore he was going to carry through this time. He did yet another about face, albeit a bit wobbly this time, and again started towards his "prey." As he did, he could see one of the lovely blonde's friends stifle a snicker with her hand while obviously pointing in Sven's direction.

Ya'lea turned her head to observe Sven's approach. As their eyes met Sven felt both the hot blood of enthusiastic manhood demanding satisfaction, and the sudden infusion of ice water into his veins triggering his fear of failure.

If he were killed in combat, he could go to his grave believing that he'd done his best. But if this enchanting beauty turned him down, well, that would be more than he could live with!

Again, he did an about face and made a beeline to the table where his colleagues were now standing on chairs, howling and calling him every name except the one his parents had given him. But as he approached the table, there was an abrupt and ominous silence, their eyes as wide open as if a live grenade had just landed in their collective laps.

"Wassup, you clowns? All a-sudden you got nuthin to say?" was all the alcohol would allow Sven say. It took his clouded mind a few seconds to grasp that the guys weren't looking at him, but rather at someone _behind _him. Suddenly Sven realized that he wasn't in control! And now, more than likely, there was something to be worried about coming up behind him!

Sven did a slow 180 degree turn to face what he was sure was an approaching threat. As he came about, he prepared himself for the bashing he was sure he was about to take, but the assault never came.

Quite the contrary.

Ya'lea Evans was only three steps away…

Two steps…

One…

As she came face to face with Sven she raised her hands. In her left hand was a wine glass. Great, he thought…He was about to get his throat cut by this beautiful blonde with a wine goblet…And he never laid a hand on her!

Instead, Ya'lea's hands slid gently across Sven's broad shoulders, her forearms resting on them gently. As her hands wrapped around his neck, she gently drew him close. If he thought to resist her, that thought waned quickly as her long fingernails gently brushed his neck. Sven could feel her breath on his face and almost taste the wine on her lips. Slowly, she pulled him so close that her lips almost touched his, but at the last second she slid past them, barely allowing the left side of her face to gently caress his.

By now his heart was pounding so hard he could feel the throbbing in his throat. Despite the room's almost frigid air conditioning he was sweating small rivulets. He was sure he was radiating enough heat to cook breakfast on his head.

Ya'lea's lips then barely touched his left ear lobe. Now he was truly scared to death…Not that he was in danger, but rather that he was about to be seriously embarrassed if she suddenly backed up and un-masked the uncontrolled expression of testosterone he was experiencing below the beltline.

"_If…you…don't…quit…fraking…around_…" Her words were slow and deliberate. Sven could have sworn that his heart had slowed to a single beat. He couldn't breathe.

"…_and…ask…me…to…dance…" _Another beat. Each one now an eternity unto itself. The pressure in his chest was suffocating. The room was stifling.

"…_I'll…find…someone…who…will…" _A third beat. Suddenly he realized that the only thing he could hear was her voice. Not the cajoling of his friends…Not the pulsing music…He couldn't see the flashing lights or smell the smoke of the cigarettes and spilled beer that surrounded them…All he could sense was _her!_

"…_and…you'll…spend…the…rest…of…your…life…" _A forth beat. Could a human heart beat so slowly and still sustain life? It must. But if his life were to end now, it would have been worth it.

"'…_kicking…yourself…for…letting…me…get…away…" _Her voice was like that of the golden songbird. So sweet. So alluring.

As the last words pass her lips, Ya'lea drew her cheek back across Sven's, pausing to once again tease him with another "near-miss-kiss."

That was more than he could stand. Sven quickly took the goblet from the beauty's hand and reached behind him to put it on the table. The problem with that was he was no where _near_ the table, but that didn't matter. Had he been able to see behind him, the sight of his buddies stumbling to grab the falling glass might have amused him. At that moment, however, he couldn't care less.

Sven placed his arms around the waist of the blonde-haired beauty and they glided to the center of the dance floor. Their movements were fluid, as if they'd been dancing together for years. In a bold move, he pulled the svelte beauty close to him, first pulling her arms round his neck then allowing his arms to drop to her waist.

Ya'lea again allowed her cheek to gently caress Sven's, again moving her lips to his left ear. "_Good choice, Soldier!" _This time she planted a gentle kiss on his neck. The response was instantaneous. Goosebumps ran down his arms and legs and his knees became weak. In her arms, Robbins was sure he was enveloped in the arms of an angel.

That was almost twenty-two years ago. One month later, Bekka Ya'lea Evans was Bekka Ya'lea Robbins.

Ya'lea and Sven Robbins made three moves in two years, the last one of which was made while she was well along with child. Nonetheless, Ya'lea had taken to service life with a flourish. She loved the sense of belonging that being a Colonial Fleet dependent meant. Not that she was a stay-at-home housewife, not by a long-shot. An investment agent by profession, she kept herself busy on his deployments and always managed to find a circle of friends wherever she went.

In the last month of her pregnancy, though, things changed. She'd been amazed that she had almost no morning sickness in the beginning. Nor did she experience the wild cravings that many women do during pregnancy. But this last month was hard. Real hard. To the point that she collapsed and had to be rushed to the hospital by ambulance.

From the emergency room she was rushed for an ultrasound of her abdomen to check on the baby. The ultrasound told the tale. Just behind the baby was a mass. A big one.

Sven remembered the message his commander handed him: "From Fleet Headquarters: Imminent Medical Emergency. Priority One travel to Scorpia via any means authorized. Local Fleet commanders are directed to effect immediate arrival of said named member to Fleet Forces Hospital Scorpia without delay."

Those were the longest thirty-six hours in his life. As the shuttle landed, it was all the crew chief could do to keep Sven from jumping off of the ship before the gangway had been swung into place. He hailed the first taxi he could and was at the base hospital minutes later. He shoved a hundred cubit note into the driver's hand for a ride only a fourth of that and left the driver a handsome tip.

When Sven got to Ya'lea's side, she was being prepped for emergency surgery. There were several IV bags above her head and monitors beeping with each heartbeat and breath she took. The scene was almost surreal. The young warrior was terrified.

Whatever was happening, it was life threatening. The message "imminent medical emergency" hadn't given him a clue as to how bad things were.

"Baby…I'm here…_Ya'lea…?"_

Ya'lea turned her head to see where the voice came from. As she laid eyes on her husband, her color changed almost instantly from a pasty-white to some semblance of pink. The incessant monitors were now being furiously. "Hi Baby! See what I'll go though to get you home for a few days?" Her voice was weak and her words slurred, but she smiled and reached for his hand. That was worth its weight in gold alone.

From the far side of the room stepped a distinguished looking man in surgical scrubs and cap. "You must be Specialist Robbins…I'm Dr. Rupp." Sven took the man's hand but kept his eyes on Ya'lea.

"Your wife has a mass in the back of her uterus that is threatening to rupture. If it does, it could be life threatening for her _and _the baby. We're going to do an emergency trans-abdominal delivery to save the baby and remove the mass at the same time…"

Sven heard the doctor's words, but it was as if they were coming from a thousand light years away. His own voice became weak and uncertain. "Doc, she's had several ultrasounds and she was always OK…How'd this happen?"

The doctor took a long pause. "I'm not sure, Specialist. But it looks as though there may have been a twin. It started to develop, but then that part of the pregnancy failed. The babies are in separate sacs. The healthy baby's placenta held the failed one in the uterus. Now it's gotten so big that it's putting pressure on the failed placenta. The failed placenta has become infected and it's going to rupture if we don't go in and get it."

Now the tears were rolling down Sven's face and there was no way to stop them. His grip on Ya'lea's hand was like a vise. If there were God's in the universe, why weren't they here now?

"It's OK, Baby!" she whispered. "Don't cry. It'll be over in an hour. See what I'll do to get you home for a few days…?"

He couldn't believe Ya'lea. She was about to go into emergency surgery and here she was _trying to comfort him!_ Surely the Gods wouldn't take this woman from him now.

"I know, Honey! I know…_And I will be right here!_ I'm not going anywhere until you roll out of there!" The orderlies had started to move the bed, albeit slowly, towards the door. The IV bottles clanked against the pole and the monitors beeped reassuringly to her heart rhythm. But just like the night they'd met, all Sven could hear was her voice…That sweet, sweet voice of songbirds.

The nurses and orderlies rolled Ya'lea down the hall, all-the-while Sven held on to her hand for all his worth. As they came to the double doors of the Operating Room the lead nurse turned to Sven. "I'm sorry, Sir…You won't be able to go past here…." The nurse had been watching the Warrior's grip on his wife's hand and the look in his eyes. This man was truly in love.

"Right here, Baby…! I'll be right here! I'll be waiting for you!"

Her hand slipped out of his as the orderlies guided the bed through the double door. He watched as the doors slapped shut.

Ninety minutes later Sven had nearly worn a rut in the floor of Ya'lea's hospital room. The television was on but he couldn't hear it. He felt neither hot nor cold. He didn't feel hunger. He couldn't remember where he'd been or what he'd been doing only forty-eight hours ago. All he could feel was fear. Paralyzing, nauseating _fear_.

He stopped long enough to stare at the trees across the courtyard of the hospital.

As he stood there, a beautiful flock of golden songbirds suddenly took to flight. He watched as they flew off to the horizon towards the setting sun. The reflection of the setting sun against beautiful plumage of the birds was mesmerizing.

Suddenly Sven re-focused his view to the reflection of people approaching behind him in the glass. He spun around to face them, recognizing the doctor. But now the physician was accompanied by a nurse and a man in uniform. The man wore the insignia of a priest of the Chaplain's Corps.

He knew.

"_She's gone, isn't she_?" Sven's voice was nearly choking. He'd prayed for the last hour and a half that she would be spared, but now he knew the worst _had _happened. He knew when the songbirds took flight.

The doctor's answer was several seconds in coming, his tones muted and his color pale. He looked like a man that had just dodged death himself.

The doctor's voice was weak. "We did all we could…"

It took Sven several minutes to process what had just been said. He stood transfixed, staring unbelieving and without a word. His color paled in seconds and his vision blurred from the tears that welled up in his eyes. He felt as though the very air around him had been sucked out of the room and his own life was being sapped from him.

"Bekka…?" Sven could hardly say the words. "My wife's _first_ name was Bekka, after her mother and grandmother. The baby's first name will be Bekka, too…"

The nurse stepped forward. "She's fine, Specialist!. Almost three kilos! She's beautiful!"

The doctor had regained his own composure. "The baby is fine, Specialist. But the other sac had already ruptured. The baby…Bekka… was keeping pressure on the bleeding." The doctor paused briefly. It was apparent that he was grief stricken too.

"As soon as we took the baby your wife started hemorrhaging. We already had a surgeon ready just in case something like this happened. He tried to remove the mass and close the leak, but she bled out faster than we could put transfusions in. The wound in her uterus was significant.…I am so sorry…"

The doctor reached out and took Sven into his arms. He held him close and patted him gently on the back. "I'm sorry, Specialist…She was a beautiful woman…"

They stood there for a moment, then finally Sven stood up straight. He wiped the tears from his face and offered the physician his hand. He thought to say something, but the words wouldn't come.

After the doctor and chaplain left, Sven and the nurse went to the Nursery. There, swaddled in pink, snug in her incubator was the most precious thing he'd ever seen in his life. Her eyes were closed and she rested comfortably, unaware of the drama that had preceded her arrival to the world. There was a thin wisp of red locks of hair protruding from the pink beanie cap that the nursery staff had placed on her.

At the foot of the cart was a card and the name "BABY GIRL ROBBINS".

Sven was mesmerized. Next to Ya'lea, he'd never seen anything as beautiful as this precious new life. He stood with his hands clasped over his head and his nosed pressed to the window. Then, as if on cue, the baby turned her head turned towards him slightly and the Surveillance Specialist could see a twitch of her lips.

For a brief moment Bekka LeAnne Robbins smiled at her father. And in that moment, all Sven could hear was the sweet sound of the songbird.

THREE

"Hey…Sven…you in there? Sven…you OK, buddy?"

Dewayne Kells' gentle touch on Sven's shoulder and urgent calling brought Sven back to the here-and-now. How long had he been gone?. And for that matter, _where_ was he now? It took him a moment to regain his composure. "Yeah…man…sorry about that. I was thinking about…"

"…Ya'lea…" Dewayne finished Sven's sentence. He knew where he'd been. Hell, how could he not? He met Sven and Ya'lea at their wedding. The woman Kells had been dating at the time was one of Ya'lea's bridesmaids so he naturally wound up attending the wedding. Sven and Dewayne had been fast friends ever since.

Dewayne knew what a beautiful woman she was. Not only her physical beauty, but the kind of person she was. It just didn't get any better than that. Even though his burly friend had lost his wife so tragically, he always envied him. For those brief years, Sven had been as proud and dedicated as any husband could be. That there'd been no one after Ya'lea spoke volumes of Sven's love and devotion. It had been a life event that the Gunner never knew, and in current circumstances, probably never would.

That Bekka was just a shorter, younger, red-headed version of Ya'lea didn't help.

Kells reached over and grabbed the whiskey decanter and poured both of them another notch of poison. Again, both slammed the shots down then grimaced as the brew hit bottom. "A couple more shots like that and all the Cylons will ever find are some mummified corpses!" Sven had to nod in agreement. This wasn't exactly ambrosia they were drinking, but it would have to do under the circumstances.

"Alright…let's get back to the matter at hand…" Kells started to pull a chart out of a valise that he'd brought with him, but as he did the sound of the timer on the stove rang and he jumped up to get the beef out of the broiler before they set the fire alarms off.

"I got 'em…you talk…" Sven stood and headed for the kitchen.

"OK…I've been going over the maps of Harlow and looked over the preliminary mission profile that Lohan prepared for me. Going into the aerodrome directly is foolish. The Cylons left the field intact and the fact that they showed up when you guys were extracting means they were serious about wanting it for whatever reason." The Gunner started unfolding maps of Harlow and spread them across the coffee table.

"I told Lohan to work the profile out on a 96 hour ground time. That allows him 24 hours each way to hike in and out and gives him 48 hours to snoop-and-poop around the aerodrome and the warehouses."

Sven called from the kitchen. "Sounds about right, so far…Who's he taking in?"

The Gunner flipped the page over. "Four. Him, McElroy, PFC Paula Edwards and Corpsman Ethan Miller. Edwards maxed out at survival and evasion school and she scored high on the Orienteering course. She's pretty sharp in the CQB house, too." Kells paused as he flipped through the young Marine's personnel file.

"I saw the Harlow gun films." interrupted Robbins. "At least one of those Centurions was hers according to the records. She's small but feisty. Remind me not to piss her off." Sven's spirits were obviously improving.

"Don't I know it." Kells flipped through a couple of more pages clipped to the maps he'd unfolded. "Miller's a combat medic. Fair in the CQB and got through Survival School, OK. I second-guessed Lohan on this one but he convinced me that taking a medic along would take the edge off everyone else and I can't say I disagree with him."

Still in the kitchen, Sven was pulling the steaks out. "OK. I assume McElroy ID'd some potential LZ's for the ingress? Or are they gonna drop in?"

"No…No chutes or sailwings. We'll run in to an LZ five south of the aerodrome. There's nothing south of the field for 20 clicks, so there should be more than enough opportunities to avoid being seen. Even if they get spotted on DRADIS, it will just look like the Raptor dipped down below the ridge for a few seconds. It won't take 10 seconds, 15 at the outside for them to get off and hit the treeline."

Kells could hear Sven in the kitchen. Robbins didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. Kells wasn't sure if he was just busy fixing the steaks or if he was mulling over the mission plan. Either way, it gave him a moment to consider everything he'd just said.

Sven moved back into the living room and handed Dewayne a cold beer. He sat down across from him and had a decidedly anxious look. "I guess the thing to ask here is how do _you_ feel about it? They're your people. You already know my feelings on the _need _to go…As far as the plan goes, it sounds workable. What about the extraction? You gonna pull them out of the same LZ?"

"Probably not. McElroy knows where all the workable LZ's are. The Cylons will no doubt set up a rocket battery to cover an extract from the inbound LZ so going back there is untenable for both the ground team and the Raptor crew."

There was another palpable silence while Sven went about finishing the steaks and Kells poured over the charts laying in front of him. Kells was almost staring a hole into the chart, hoping to "see" something that made sense to him from a planning perspective, but all he could see were lines on a map. Try as he might there were no answers coming to him from what he saw…Only more challenges. And worries.

Moments passed and Sven re-entered the room with two hot plates in his hands. He placed one on the coffee table where he'd been sitting and then the other in front of his old friend. The movement startled Kells as he had allowed himself to become fixated on the map and what laid beyond its lines and colors. As he regained his bearings, Dewayne was dumbfounded by the small feast that Sven had placed in front of him.

"Where in the hell did you get potatoes from?" The meal on the plate was far more than the Gunner had carried in the door.

"You're not going to believe this, but there's actually a garden warehouse in this rock. They brought in over 80,000 tons of topsoil and greenhouse lights about a year ago to set up a garden facility. We get fresh veggies every couple of months plus someone figured out that it was therapeutic for people to sit in the dirt and play once in a while! There's also a hydroponics research facility in one of the abandoned side tunnels. The company loaned out the space to Fleet Research. Part of our oxygen recycler is directed through there."

There had obviously been a lot of things he'd missed in Sven's life in the last years. Trying to envision him with a hoe and a watering pail was difficult for Kells. Nonetheless, the meal in front of him was a welcomed respite from the cafeteria. It was a small touch of humanity in an inhospitable environment.

FOUR

Kevin Payge sat in the pilot's seat of Raptor _Two Tango Bravo_. The wireless had been giving him fits. He'd replaced the receiver-transmitter, or RT, once already, yet the "no comms" problem persisted. The control box lit up but the RT wouldn't come on line. He knew the power was routed though the control box so now he was on a "tron hunt." He had the schematic for the comm system laid across his lap and a test meter in his hand. He turned the Raptor's auxiliary power unit on and pushed the wireless' circuit breaker in. Touching one lead of the multimeter to the frame of the cockpit he began checking pins for power. He checked the four different pins that were supposed to have power and found it everywhere it was supposed to be. If they were back on the Oreyus, he'd just connect the diagnostic computer and let it tell him where the problems were.

Frak. Whatever was keeping the wireless from working, it was probably a simple chaffed wire…And surely that chaffed wire was behind some impossible-to-get-to panel that would keep him up all night removing. It was almost as if a law mandated making it more difficult to do than it had to be. Maybe he could write his own law…"If Something _Can_ Go Wrong, It _WILL_ Go Wrong." Yeah. "Payge's Law." "_If we ever get out of here, I'll copyright it_." He thought to himself.

Payge reconnected the wireless control panel and slid out of the pilot's seat. The RT was in a rack behind the pilot's seat in the cabin, so he'd have to move back to finish troubleshooting the problem. Locating a couple of rags, he laid them on the deck and then got on his back until his head was under the rack. He arduously began un-bolting the panel and connectors.

"Well…There's a sight!" Bekka Robbins' voice was almost gleeful as she made her presence known. Payge, however, startled by the sound of the female voice, hit his head on the rack over his head as he spontaneously flinched.

"_FRAK!" _The profanity was spontaneous. He let go of the connector he had in his hand and slid back out from under the stack of avionics boxes and sat up to face the young Robbins, anxious to see her, but embarrassed at having been surprised like that.

As he eased out from under the panel, he could see Bekka's teasing smile and he was at once sorry that he might have sounded gruff in response to her little surprise. But as quickly as he slid out from under the panel, her expression changed from one playfulness to one of mild shock as she saw blood oozing from a small cut on the very top middle of Payge's forehead. "_OH KEVIN! I am soooo sorry! You're bleeding!" _Bekka quickly fumbled through her pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, pressing it to the technician's head. The blood slowly blotted the white linen cloth.

"What are you doing here?" Kevin was glad to see her, but he would've rather not drawn blood for the privilege.

"Well…I couldn't sleep. I went over to my dad's apartment. He and Gunner Kells are talking about some military stuff so I just started walking. I heard the Raptor's auxiliary power unit start up as I was passing by so I came in to see what's going on. So…here I am!" Bekka continued to dab at the wound on Kevin's forehead as the bleeding, although slight, continued. She leaned in to get a closer look at the wound. "We oughta get you over to the clinic. That's going to need a stitch or two!"

Payge reached up to feel the wound for himself. It was pretty superficial but kept oozing dark red blood. "I hate doctor's offices, Bekka. I'll just keep some pressure on it for now." He started to take the handkerchief from Bekka's hand, but she pulled away from him and kept it to her self.

"Not so fast! I caused that, so it's only right that I hold it for you! Just sit back and let me do some first aid here!" Bekka's tone was insistent, but teasingly so. Her initial look of mild shock changed back to a playful one. "So…why are you down here in the middle of the night?"

Payge reached for a rag to wipe his hands with. "Well…There's only one avionics technician here other than the Senior Chief, and you're looking at him. She was down here until 21:00, then she went topside. I thought I had this licked but it seems there's a gremlin in here that's taunting me." The Specialist finished wiping his hands and discarded the rag. "Of course everything I need to get at is behind some panel or servo that I can't move by myself. Payge's Law Number Two. "

"Payge's Law?" Bekka noticed that the bleeding had stopped, but she kept a light touch on Payge's head anyway.

"Yeah…I'm going to write a book with all of my new laws when we get home. I made up number one a while ago…"If It Can Go Wrong, It Will." Number Two will be "The Number Of Hands Needed To Do A Particular Job Will Always be The Number Of Hands Available Plus One."

"Well…Soldier…Technician…Computer Whiz…Philosopher…Are there no limits to the depths of Kevin Payge?" Bekka's tone was now a bit more relaxed. Almost sultry, considering they were sitting in the middle of a broken Raptor that was itself inside a spinning asteroid. She pulled the handkerchief away from Kevin's forehead. "See…All better…"

"And what about Bekka? What brings you to this rock other than your father being chief of security?"

"A chance." Bekka's tone changed again, this time with a bit of underlying seriousness "A chance to get to know my dad." Bekka paused for a second, wondering how much of her private life he needed to know…Or might _want_ to know.

"My mother died in childbirth and I spent most of my childhood growing up with my aunt and uncle while dad was deployed from one place to the next. I spent my first two years of Secondary with him, but we didn't exactly get along." Her disappointment at the years lost was almost palpable.

"He got deployed again after that. I guess I didn't make it very easy on him and he didn't know anything about raising a teenager. Anyway, it was kinda ugly when we parted ways last time."

"And getting on the translight team as an intern was just a chance happening?"

"Oh no…I really am going through the academy for translight communication technology. That's how I got to here. The only dependents allowed here are spouses. No kids, even adult ones, period. I'm on an intern grant. I just failed to mention that we were kin! Guess I am pretty lucky, all things considered. I was on Aerilon a month ago."

That having been said, Bekka and Kevin both sat quietly for a moment. They may have both been young, but they both fully appreciated what had gone on. It was going to be a long time before they had anything that closely resembled a "normal" life, that was for sure.

Kevin took a deep breath and held it for a second. Then he let it go and in doing so took the hand Bekka had been holding the handkerchief with. There were traces of blood on her fingers. "We need to get your hands washed, Bekka. Someone will think you beat me up or something!"

Bekka then noticed that Kevin wasn't so much "holding" her hand as he was caressing it. And suddenly she was aware of how hard her heart was beating. She could hear the rhythm of her heart in her ears, it was beating so hard. She was looking down and she could see the bounding in her chest through the jumpsuit she was wearing. She thought to pull her hand away but then uncontrollably found herself spreading her fingers so as to intertwine her fingers with his.

Kevin, too, was experiencing the same bounding in his chest. The adrenaline surge in his system made his ears ring and his palms sweat. He was afraid to look up at her for fear she'd pull away, but he had to. Slowly he raised his head.

Strange, he thought…that all of the sounds of the Raptor, the lights in the cabin…the smells of lubricants and fuel…were all gone. He was captivated by the softness of her hair, almost making it appear as though there was an aura around her.

"Bekka…" Kevin whispered the name. "I…I've never had a…"

"_Girlfriend_?" The look on Bekka's face changed to one of surprise. "I find _that_ hard to believe, Mister Payge!" Suddenly she saw through the cockiness. He had a bad shy streak that he was desperately trying to hide!

Now the young technician was blushing so hard that he almost illuminated the cabin of the Raptor. He wanted to duck and hide, but he was so transfixed by the beauty in front of him that he was afraid if he diverted his eyes for even a second, she'd be gone.

Kevin could feel Bekka's grip on his hand tighten. He could feel both the warmth and tenderness in her touch. He was almost ashamed to be holding her hand since his hand was covered with the grime of the Raptor and blood from his head.

Bekka could feel Kevin's grasp on her hand tighten too. She thought to tell him that she'd never had a steady boyfriend before, but that might be just a little bit too much information too soon. And besides, it might be better that she leave him thinking that she was one up on him!

She pulled slightly on his hand, pulling him closer to her. She leaned into him until their lips touched and then she put one hand around his neck.

Kevin's lips found hers, and they were warm and tender. He'd never known such a sensation in his life. How ironic that he'd spent countless nights with his buddies in one night club after another surrounded by women yet never found himself drawn to any one girl. Now here he was in one of the most desolate places in the universe, kissing an angel.

For a moment, Kevin was sure that he could hear the sweet sounds of a songbird.

The embrace lasted for almost a minute. Both of their arms found their way around each other. Kevin's hands found their way to the long locks of Bekka's flowing red mane, and it was as if he were running his fingers through the very fibers of the heavens themselves.

Bekka brought her hands to either side of Kevin's face. The passion of the kiss was heightened by the sounds of their breathing and pounding of their hearts, now brought together in the clinch of their embrace. Time stood still, yet it passed too quickly.

_BAM!_

The sudden slamming of the service door broke the kiss. The shock was like a cattle prod as neither had heard the door open in the first place. Their passion, suddenly tempered by the presence of a third party, would have to wait. Around the nose of the Viper parked next to the Raptor came Plane Captain Jennie Yoder.

Kevin and Bekka looked at each other and began to giggle a bit. Kevin threw himself back under the rack of equipment he'd been under when Bekka came in in the first place. Bekka grabbed the leads of the test meter and handed them to Kevin as if helping him troubleshoot the wireless. She ran her hands through her hair, vainly trying to straighten the awry locks of hair.

Yoder looked up and was startled to see the two of them there. "Oh! Hi guys! What's up…?" Kevin wondered if her naïve tone was genuine or facetious . In either case he was sure that he had "guilty of kissing on duty" painted on his forehead. In that moment he also had an evil thought, and that was to tell Yoder _exactly_ what was "up" but since he was in an awkward position and Bekka was within striking range, he thought better of it.

Kevin looked out from under the equipment rack and made eye contact with Bekka. He gave her a little wink and a smile.

"Bekka…could you hand me those leads, please…?" Hopefully Jennie Yoder wouldn't notice the blushing…on _either_ of them!

FIVE

Sergeant Grant Lohan, PFC Paula Edwards, Corpsman Ethan Miller and Specialist Adrian McElroy stooped over a duffel bag of gear on top of a pallet five feet off the ground near the far end of Menno's South Pole. Like the mock CQB house, the pallets had to make-do for the door of a just-landed Raptor. They were each geared up with a full combat load, weapons and provisions for the 96 hour mission. Lohan watched the sweep second hand on his watch as the second hand moved towards the top of the watch.

"Three…two…one…_GO GO GO!"_ McElroy and Miller were first over the edge of the pallet. As they cleared the edge of the mock Raptor hatch, Lohan and Edwards shoved the gear bag out and then followed it out the door. Miller and McElroy immediately grabbed the gear bag as Edwards and the Sergeant bailed out and took defensive stances, sweeping left-right-left over their respective sectors. The Sergeant tapped McElroy on the shoulder who then called to Miller to move out. The four of them began running, as silently as possible, towards several cones set up about fifty meters away.

As they got to the cones, Miller and McElroy set the bag down and immediately un-slung their own rifles, bringing them to bear and each beginning to sweep the area around them to be sure that there weren't any hostiles in the "treeline" that they just ran into. Once Lohan and Edwards joined them and they were sure they didn't have any enemy company close aboard, Miller and McElroy once again took the bag and began moving "south" along the tunnel.

Suddenly, a barrage of rocks began to land at their feet. PFC Edwards was the first to get caught by the onslaught and called out "_INCOMING EAST!_". The four of them dropped to their bellies and brought their weapons to bear. On the opposite wall of the tunnel were five paper targets placed there by Corporal Jarvis and a few other members of the Marine squad. The lobbed rocks simulated the beginning of an enemy ambush.

The team members took aim on the paper targets and opened fire. This time the "fire" was simulated and the "bullets" were laser targeting devices attached to their rifles. To their credit, Sergeant Lohan's team only took eight seconds to get five "enemy casualty" lights as each target received a "fatal" hit. As the last light came on, Sergeant Lohan rose to his feet. "_Cease fire, cease fire!" _He quickly punched a button on his watch. "Ninety-eight seconds! Down from two minutes! Good job, Marines!"

Paula Edwards, Ethan Miller and Adrian McElroy each slung their rifles over their shoulders and slid the goggles they were wearing up off their faces. Sergeant Lohan turned to them and gave them a thumbs up. "OK team…Sack 'em and pack 'em. Let's head for the barn. Everyone grab some chow and we'll debrief in classroom four in an hour. Any questions?"

The three other recon team members each shook their heads and grabbed up their gear. As they headed for the trolley to return to center rock, they started bantering about the drill they'd just executed. As they did, Sergeant Lohan headed for the dug-out where Corporal Jarvis and his team were set up.

"How'd it look to you Al?

"Not bad, Boss…Not bad…'course it's hard to get a good drill in with the resources we have here, but the roll-out from the door was smooth and there was no banging of gear like last time…"

The first three drills hadn't gone so well, but of course that was why they did it over and over. They'd do it two or three _more _times before they launched day-after-tomorrow. They had all the opportunities in the world to get it right here…On Harlow, it would be 'get it right or say good night'. Sergeant Lohan was real fond of getting it right.

As Sergeant Lohan and Corporal Jarvis climbed aboard their own trolley, Lohan's thoughts went back to the incident on Harlow only three days ago. The deployment from the BeeCee had been by-the-book, yet a man died. Now you have to expect that people are going to die in war and no warrior can control all the variables in such an evolution. Still, he felt as though he had somehow been responsible for Elliott Ward's death. He also knew that the mission they were going on was going to be a helluva lot more dangerous than the one they'd just done. He was going to make sure that everyone went home with nothing more damaging than insect bites or sunburn.

Dewayne Kells was waiting at the cafeteria as Lohan and Jarvis pulled up. The two Marines off-loaded and saluted the Gunner. "How'd it go, Sergeant?"

Sergeant Lohan set his load belt on the ground and signaled Corporal Jarvis to hand over his binoculars. "We recorded the evolution in NVG mode, Sir. I think we'll do alright once we get past the first 100 meters into the treeline." The Gunner took the optics from the corporal and hit "replay."

"How's McElroy doing? I know his background, but it _has _been several years since he went bush last." The Gunner was listening intently as he watched the video.

"Well, if it has, you can't tell, Sir. He's on top of his game as if he'd never left the teams. If his skills are as sharp as the drills suggest, I'll go bush with him anytime."

That was a strong validation but the Gunner wasn't really surprised. SST training was remarkable in its own right. Stuff like that never really "left" a person. But something about the whole circumstance of McElroy's presence on Harlow, especially working in the traffic control center, seemed a bit strange to him. Still, he was glad to have the extra skill set available to him. If it turned out that they were truly on their own, he hoped that McElroy would join the MarDET permanently.

"Alright…How about Miller and Edwards? You OK with them going on this?"

Sergeant Lohan answered immediately. "They're good to go, Sir. It's the first recon combat mission for both of them, but then there has to be a first for all of the MarDET sooner or later." The sergeant saw a look of concern on the Gunner's face, and he added "…but then everyone loses their virginity eventually. At least we train 'em how to do it safely, Sir!"

In twenty-seven years, Dewayne Kells had never thought of it that way, but when he thought about it, it made sense!

"Alright…But if you get any heebie-jeebies about anything before the mission deploys, you sing out. The milestone to launch is our own and we can stop at any time and re-group if we need to…" The Gunner put his hand on the sergeant's shoulder and gave him a good grip. "I'd rather push back a day than go half-cocked and get someone hurt, Roger?"

"Roger, Sir. We'll be ready!"

Lohan picked his gear belt back up and headed into the cafeteria as the Gunner headed towards the admin offices. The sergeant walked around to the table where the other team members were already seated and dropped his belt. Before he could get to the chow line, however, PFC Paula Edwards slid up behind him. "Sergeant Lohan…may I have a minute…?" How she'd gotten so close so quick surprised him.

The sergeant looked around and saw an empty table behind them. "Take a seat, Edwards, what's on your mind?"

Her response was quick and to-the-point. "You are, Sergeant."

The answer caught him by surprise and it caused him to uneasily adjust himself in his chair. It must have been apparent in his expression, too. Paula Edwards' own expression quickly turned to embarrassment when she realized that what she had just said sounded, well, intimate.

_"Oh no…I didn't mean personally! _What I meant was, I am worried that I'm going to screw this up, Sergeant. I don't want to let you down."

The sergeant had to pause for a moment. But now he was a bit embarrassed himself that he took it for granted that her comment was of a personal meaning.

"Edwards, you wear that uniform because you wanted to be more than _just_ a volunteer, more than _just_ a Fleet member. And had you not made-the-grade on Picon in IRT, you wouldn't be here today." Lohan was leaning forward across the table now, not to get in her face, but to make a point.

"But I don't want you to think…"

Lohan interrupted the PFC mid-sentence. "…Trust me, Edwards, when things hit the fan, and I am pretty sure they will, the _last_ thing you'll be worried about is what _I _think. You just do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, and how you were trained to do it and we'll all come home in one piece."

Sergeant Lohan could almost imagine seeing a light come on over the PFC's head.

"Thank-you, Sergeant. Sorry to interrupt chow call." Edwards got up from her seat and headed back over to the table with the other Marines. Sergeant Lohan watched her walk away.

Just then Grant Lohan realized that his biggest fear wasn't facing the Cylons or getting himself killed, but of having to account for why one of his Marines was killed on an operation he was in charge of.

He hoped it wasn't going to be her.

SIX

Raptor 522 Tango Bravo lifted from the pad in Bay Four and slowly made it's way towards the hangar bay doors. Jahlee Rohs and Sven Robbins were in the "front office." Unlike the previous missions, there would be no Viper riding shotgun this time. The fewer ships on this hop meant a less-likely chance of being detected.

"_Menno Control, Bee Sting is outbound, clear of the doors and going F-T-L in thirty seconds." _

It had been Alyssya Teague's idea to tag the freighter captain with the tactical call sign "Bee Sting", but after her performance on Harlow, no one was laughing. The Cylons got a good taste of the captain's "sting" and it was quite effective, thank-you very much.

Rohs and Robbins ran down the pre-FTL checklist as the Marines and Adrian McElroy hunkered down for the jump. Rohs was going to make an FTL jump into the low atmosphere of Harlow to prevent a sonic boom, but also to minimize the time they would be on the Cylon equivalent of DRADIS screens. In any case, they were still going to go down to the deck and jink through several valley peaks so as to be unseen on Cylon screens for several seconds at a time. If the Cylons did indeed come looking for potential recon teams, they were going to have to look in a _lot_ of places.

"OK folks…Here we go," Captain Rohs' voice came across the intercom…"FTL in five…four…three…two…one…_JUMP!_

Lohan closed his eyes as the warning came, but even with them closed, he couldn't avoid the vortex. They hung for what seemed an eternity between somewhere and nowhere, their very souls in limbo. People in the deepest sleep had reported the phenomena. There was no escaping it.

Just as abruptly as they seemed to fall into the vortex, reality snapped back into place. This time, however, it wasn't a smooth arrival. Raptor -2 Tango Bravo arrived deep in Harlow's atmosphere and the ride was bumpy.

"_We're on the deck, everyone. Be ready for abrupt maneuvering!" _Sven Robbins' voice was loud but calm. Ethan Miller imagined that it was a lot easier to stay that way when you were able to look out the windshield to see the horizon and were actually doing something. The ride on the bench seat in the back cabin of the Raptor was anything but comfortable.

"_Night vision goggles activated…Lock and load!" _Sergeant Lohan barked out the order to switch on their low light optics and to make sure their weapons had full magazines in place. Now was the time to take the safeties off…There were many tales of Marines who never made it off the landing ships during the Cylon War because they hadn't popped a magazine in or still had the safety on.

The Raptor suddenly jinked to the left and then rolled wing's level. Before the Marines could get stable though, the Raptor jinked right and then left yet again. When Robbins had warned of "abrupt maneuvering," he wasn't kidding.

_"LZ in fifteen seconds! Blackout cabin and depressurize now!" _called out Captain Rohs. This was it. They were going to be on the ground before they knew it.

Suddenly the nose of the Raptor pitched up 30 degrees and the full force of the breaking thrusters could be felt. The ship must have gone from over 500kph to zero in three seconds…or so it seemed.

Lohan hit the door control and the hatch powered open. As they had practiced it numerous times in the tunnel, McElroy and Miller were out the door with the supply duffel first with Sergeant Lohan and PFC Edwards following. The Sergeant was last and as he passed through the hatch he hit the door actuator then banged on the side of the Raptor twice to let Captain Rohs know he was clear and she could transition back to forward flight.

Corpsman Miller and Adrian McElroy had already moved the duffel to the edge of the wing and were checking left-and-right as Lohan and Edwards followed up. They watched as the Raptor disappeared into the night, the only evidence of it's presence the blue glow of it's sublight engines disappearing into the darkened skies.

Suddenly it was quiet. All of them had a ringing in their ears from the ambient noise of the cabin, but that quickly resolved and they could hear the encroaching sounds of the night all around them.

Miller and McElroy made a beeline for the edge of the woods and were inside the cover of the forest in seconds. Lohan followed as PFC Edwards swept the barrel of her rifle left, then right, her finger laid along side the trigger housing. She kept reaching her right thumb around the left side of the pistol grip of the rifle to the safety to make sure she was ready to fire, but was careful to not let her finger rest on the trigger. It would not be a good thing if they'd made it to this point safely only to give their position away with an accidental discharge.

As the PFC made it to the treeline, Sergeant Lohan tapped her on the shoulder and she took a defensive stance on one knee, keeping her eyes to the field they just landed in. If there was any trouble in the other directions, the others would cover that.

Lohan also dropped to one knee and looked around him. Miller was looking left, McElroy to the right, each covering a 120 degree sector. Lohan then opened the duffle and pulled out the roll of charts that they would be navigating with for the next four days. They had been pre-stacked so that each map came out of the tube in the order that they would need them. He turned on his night vision flashlight and the chart seemingly jumped up at him with the increased illumination. It shocked him for a second, but then he remembered that some one would have to be looking for them with a special scanner to know they were there. To any other creature of the night, they were nearly invisible.

Sergeant Lohan quickly looked around him and got his bearings and he oriented the map accordingly. "_McElroy…on me…"_ he whispered.

The SST warrior made one more scan of his sector then dropped back to the duffle bag. "_You find us on the map OK, Sarge?"_

_"Yeah…Rohs dropped us right on target. I put us right here, five clicks south of the aerodrome. Look right to you?"_

McElroy looked over Sergeant Lohan's shoulder at the map, then back out at the ridge in the distance. The LZ he had chosen was very unique. It sat in the valley of three different intersecting ridgelines so it was easy to confirm their location on the map. It also made it almost impossible to see from any ground based DRADIS. Even a downward looking scanner would have to have been right on top of them the very moment they off-loaded to have detected them.

_"Yesserie! She dropped us right in the pickle barrel. _McElroy signaled to the others with a reassuring thumbs-up. "_Now all we have to do is make it to here by sunrise." _McElroy pointed to the first checkpoint that was on the map. It was a small ravine about a third of the way to the aerodrome. _"Remember, Sarge…this rock only has a 16 hour rotational cycle. We're gonna see sunrise twice in a 24 hour period. So we need to be in our first hiding spot before then"._

McElroy didn't like the whispering, however portable wireless units would have been a dead give-away.

"_Right…got it…OK, everyone, get your gear from the duffle and let's get ready to move out." _The duffle had most of their ammo and other survival gear in it. They disembarked this way so that if they had to fight on landing or shortly thereafter, they wouldn't have to have all of that extra gear holding them down if they had to run. Now that they were 'go' for the ingress, they would pull out their separate loads and get going.

It only took them five minutes to divvie up 'the stuff' and re-load their packs. Sergeant Lohan found a fallen tree and some big rocks and discarded the duffle bag under them. After inspecting each of the other team members and ensuring himself that all was well, he got them ready to go.

"_OK, Adrian…this is your backyard, you've got point. Five meter trail formation. Let's go." _McElroy gathered up his rifle and slung it over one shoulder. Like PFC Edwards, he thumbed the safety on his rifle to make sure he could fire if necessary, but was careful to keep his finger out of the trigger well. Stupid mistakes had made widows out of a lot of his colleagues' wives.

McElroy flipped his night goggles down and cinched up the straps of his load bearing equipment. He took the map with him and verified the point he was at and compared it to the terrain they were in. "_That's where we're going, Sarge…through the saddle of that rise to the north. We'll stay off the ridgelines to avoid being spotted…"_

Sergeant Lohan gave him a thumb's up as did Miller and Edwards. Having made one last check of his gear, Adrian McElroy was on the move. He was back in the bush. He was home.

PFC Edwards waited for thirty seconds then followed McElroy into the bush as did Miller after her with Sergeant Lohan bringing up the rear. As she stepped off into the rough, Edwards took in a deep breath. She loved the scents of the forest. Ironic that she'd grown up in a suburb of Caprica City and hadn't even been close to a real forest more than once or twice in her young life. Even then it was in a developed recreation park where she never detoured off of the prepared trails. Now here she was moving across a forested asteroid, in the middle of the night, armed for war.

Paula Edwards had often described herself as something of a spoiled brat growing up. From a well-to-do Caprican family, she wanted for nothing. She had been a cheerleader for the school Pyramid team. She was editor of the school paper. She was the "have it" girl who always had the latest styles or gadgets. And why not? Her parents could afford it! That she might ever pursue something as "menial" as a career in the Armed Forces was almost unthinkable.

Unthinkable, that was, until three weeks before graduation.

Paula had been in the women's restroom at school when three girls from her "crew" came in. At first she thought to announce herself, but then thought that it might be fun to surprise them by popping out of the stall abruptly.

There was going to be a surprise, alright…But she was going to be on the receiving end.

She finished her business in the stall and adjusted her dress as the three girls began talking….about her. Paula froze. She readied herself to hear whatever words of praise or admiration her friends had for her. Afterall, they were all "sisters"! She just knew that she was about to be showered with praise from them.

She was about to find out, however, that they were anything _but _complimentary.

As a matter of fact, they were callous and ugly.

As she listened, her "friends" criticized and ridiculed her for every conceivable infraction of social style and protocol. The haranguing was incessant and mean. Then one of the girls summed it up…Paula would be "nothing" if not for _their_ indulgence and for her willingness to chauffer them around in the car that "daddy bought."

Paula suddenly realized what had been happening all along. _She had been used!_ But how could this be? They were the "it" crowd! They were as close to being her sisters as any flesh and blood could be!

_Weren't they_?

The tears welled up in her eyes and her hands began to shake. Everything that had been her world seemingly came down around her. Lies! _All lies_! How could _they_ do this to _her_?

The bubble around her had burst. There was no going back. The words were said, and like a broken egg, nothing but shattered fragments of what had been her protective shell remained.

To her credit, Paula stayed in the stall until the others left. She had to. The tears were flowing and there'd be no explaining them without having to confront the offenders. And confront them she would, but it would be on her terms and certainly _not_ in the bathroom.

Later that afternoon, her "friends" stopped her on the sidewalk. Paula had had time to put her 'happy face' back on and the offenders were none-the-wiser that she had overheard them in the bathroom. As if nothing had been said, she walked with them, joking and laughing, to the lot where her car was parked. The same car that she'd picked _them_ up with every morning for the last two years. The same car _they'd_ gone clubbing in. The same car _they_ had gone shopping with and meeting _their_ boyfriends with.

They drove for an hour, laughing and joking, until they were outside the city. The sun was setting and the lights of the metropolis were beginning to shimmer. Paula had convinced them that they should head for Cedar Point Lookout, a popular but remote sightseeing spot a dozen kilometers from the city's edge. As they pulled up to the empty parking lot, "the girls" all disembarked to enjoy the changing of the lights.

All except Paula, that was.

As the other three girls started to head for the outcropping, Paula suddenly shifted the car back into gear. She spun the tires, causing rocks and dust to fly a dozen meters into the air, pulling forward several car-lengths.

Startled at first, the girls thought that Paula was teasing them as she suddenly stopped and looked back over her shoulder at them, laughing out loud. But suddenly the smile disappeared and her affect turned serious as she looked them directly in the eye.

"Ya know…the next time you decide to trash-talk someone in the girl's room, you should be sure the person you're trashing _ISN'T IN ONE OF THE STALLS! " _

Paula then presented them with an obscene gesture, turned back in the driver's seat and stomped on the accelerator creating a dust cloud that could be seen a kilometer away. She glanced into the rear-view mirror to see her detractors vainly running after her and trying to flag her down. Paula kept her foot on the gas. All she wanted to do was put as much distance between her and her betrayers as she could.

The very next morning she went to the Fleet Recruiting Office. Not even a metropolis like Caprica City would be big enough for her and her now _ex_-friends. It was time to leave.

Now she was here and they were…well…who knows _where_ the hell they were. As long as they weren't _here! _Perhaps she ultimately owed them her life. Afterall, she might still be on Caprica if not for their betrayal!

But that was two years ago and a dozen light years away. Right now other people were depending on her to do her job and do it well. Their lives were depending on her. If something bad happened on this mission, it would not be because she gave less than 110%.

And that's all there was to that.

SEVEN

_Aboard Baseship Hotel Three Alpha_

A lone Centurion stood watch over the sensor station scanning the human colony asteroid in the distance. The abrupt appearance of a lone Colonial target ascending from the surface caused the Centurion to sound the alarm to its superiors.

The alarm came as a surprise as it was for a target _leaving_ the asteroid. There had been no indication of a ship arriving, so the departure of a ship was truly unexpected. The Central Cylon Command had not dedicated a baseship to watching this human colony. They had scanned the surface thoroughly after the attack on the settlement and had been satisfied that they'd destroyed all of the human's ships. Hotel Three Alpha had left a recon patrol a week ago, but that patrol came upon a cargo ship at the operations facility. They'd taken heavy casualties after they'd engaged the humans. Only three of their patrol had escaped.

The Cylons had assumed the attack came from off-world stragglers…survivors looking for food or shelter. An annoyance, to be sure, and when one considered that the Twelve Colonies of Kobol were now in ruins, it was insignificant. But now this.

Obviously even the Central Cylon could mis-interpret surveillance scans…Not that it happened often. But where had the ship come from?

From the hatch behind the Centurion appeared a human form…A man.

The Cylon didn't stir from its duties at the screen. It knew that this "human" _wasn't _human. That it was, like itself, a machine. But unlike the clanking, lumbering Centurion, it was an exquisite melding of technology and life…A cybernetic evolution of machine and living matter. The tall, ebony creature approached the sentry and peered past it to the screen.

"Show me the archive, Centurion." The human-form Cylon spoke in a soft, melodious, baritone voice. The sentry immediately obeyed and its left arm extended. As it did, it's digits formed to slender "fingers" that actuated the controls on the screen to re-play the data of the sighting.

"Well, well, well, my friend. It appears as though our efforts were not as thorough as we would have believed. Quite resilient, these humans…"

"And you would expect less from those to whom we owe our own existence, Brother Four?" This voice was quite different. It was sultry and decidedly female. The ebony human-form Cylon turned to face the new arrival. The female human-form Cylon was a tall, curvaceous brunette. Even in the modest slacks and button-down shirt she wore, any _human _male would have appreciated her exquisite beauty and steel-blue eyes. Someone had gone to great lengths to make sure that _this_ Cylon possessed all of the attributes of the human female form that would give any hormone driven male reason to pause.

However the male human-form Cylon was not so chemically imbalanced, and the appearance of the female human-form was no more significant than the arrival of any Centurion…except, of course, that few Centurions were equipped for verbal communications, and of those that were, well, they _sounded_ like machines.

"No, I suppose not. Of course I have yet to actually meet one in person. And considering that I expected that I never would, I am now more curious than ever, Sister Six."

"And how shall we handle this development, Brother Four ?" The female-form's inquiry seemed to be more of a test than of a solicitation of ideas.

The male human-form paused for a moment, pondering options, then spoke carefully. "We do nothing other than alert the surface patrol. If they are just a few stragglers, we would just waste resources. If they come back, we will be ready for them."

"Well done, Brother. Can you determine whether _we_ were detected at all?"

"No, Sister…The Colonial ship appears to have been an unarmed surveillance Raptor, but it was not actively scanning on DRADIS. We are directly between the sun and them. They would have to have special filters to protect their eyes and have been looking directly at us to detect us visually."

"Well done, then. Notify the ground patrol. We shall watch to see if these humans return. If they do, we shall watch where they go. Be ready."

Brother Four watched as the Sister Six turned and left the room. He then returned to the Centurion and laid his hand on the chromed sentry. "Notify the surface detachment, Centurion. Tell them to be alert. They may have company…"

EIGHT

The team made far better time than they initially allowed for. They got to their first hide forty-five minutes ahead of schedule and that meant more down-time. Not that any of them would really rest that much. They were in badguy country, and no matter how well they dug in, they couldn't help but sleep with one eye open.

They'd been on Menno Seven Three for almost two weeks now and in space for eight weeks before that. They'd gotten used to a confined, self-contained environment. Here in the bush of Harlow's World, however, they were bombarded by the sounds of nature and borderless treelines, either of which could mask the approach of an enemy. Adrian McElroy may have been the exception. It had only been four days since he left Harlow, so he wasn't as conditioned to the change as the others had been. Besides, he was trained to live in the wilds.

Luckily the quick rotational period of Harlow's World meant darkness would befall them again in only eight hours so they could get moving again. There was a certain level of security in moving at night. Their night vision technology meant they could actually see some things better at night than they could at day and that meant Mr. Badguy couldn't get close without exposing himself to ambush.

As the sun approached the western horizon, Sergeant Lohan got his team back on their feet and ready to move out. He stopped for a moment and marveled at the scenery. It was easy to see how the people who had called this place home had fallen in love with it. He even thought to notice how fast the shadows moved across the land as the sunset.

Darkness was upon them within a few minutes and the team gathered around Sergeant Lohan to brief their movements. He'd pulled the second map out of the case and pin-pointed their location for the other members.

"_OK…we're right here_" he whispered while pointing to the eastern wall of a narrow ravine. "_If we can make it to here, we can intercept a jogging trail at this point and then it's a quick march to our second hide, here_…" Lohan's fingers moved across the map highlighting each of the points he wanted the team to be familiar with. "_Then we'll be at our first recon spot, just west of the aerodrome. This is where we last saw the Toasters._" he said, pointing to the east side of the airfield. "_So we'll avoid the Operations bunker, fuel pits and Harlow Center like the plague. We'll be able to get some good photos from the ridge, here, but I don't see any need to go onto the aerodrome itself_."

Each of the team nodded their heads and took turns familiarizing themselves with the map. No "course lines" or other marks had been drawn on the map. That way, if anyone carrying it was captured, the Cylons wouldn't be able to tell where the rest of the team might be, where they came from or where they were going to.

Miller finished his review of the map then handed it to Sergeant Lohan. As they geared up to go, Lohan started to tell McElroy to take the point, but then changed his mind.

"_Edwards…you're on point…" _In a second, Miller and McElroy each looked to the Sergeant as if he'd just cussed their mothers. Lohan saw their looks but only gave them a reassuring nod and raised his hand as if to say "I don't want to hear it…"

Even PFC Edwards looked a bit incredulous. She paused for but a second then brought her rifle to the ready, flipped her night vision goggles down, and gave the sergeant a "thumb's up" acknowledgement of the order.

This was her moment. She was ready.

Miller and McElroy each flipped their own NVG's on as Edwards had, then took interval on her as they moved into the brush. Each step they took was careful and deliberate, each of them watching to make sure they didn't inadvertently step on anything that could snap or make any kind of inappropriate noise.

Adrian McElroy was comfortable here. He'd been on Harlow for almost two years now, and he'd spent many days hiking and camping in the hills around the aerodrome. There wasn't a whole lot to do here if you weren't part of the entertainment or hostelry services in the city.

He knew the valley that they were moving through, although the last time he was here it was daylight and he wasn't trying to keep from being seen or heard. On those steps where he paused he could hear the distant sounds of Ahlandi Creek. He remembered fishing along it's banks only a kilometer or so farther south from their present position. Never did he think he'd be fighting a war here. How sad.

The unspoken truth was, of course, that Adrian McElroy _was _on Harlow as an active duty Special Surveillance Team operative. After _Operation Semper Vigilans, _he'd been given a choice of rear-area operations to give him some "down time" after having been on the Cylon side of the frontier. He and two colleagues made up the team on Harlow. No one had thought that Harlow would be the target of any attack, its role in Colonial politics having been long-since downgraded. Yet McElroy and his team had been put there just in case so as to have boots on the ground if needed.

His buddies went to town last week while he stood watch. They never came back. The luck of the draw, he presumed.

That the Cylons had placed any tactical importance on Harlow was shocking to him. Strategically, the rock itself wasn't nearly as useful as any one of a dozen other bodies inside the Perimeter might be for the mechanical Cylons. Of what interest could this rock be to the automaton Cylons? How many Cylons could be interested in retirement villas or casinos?

The team continued to move quickly towards their next checkpoint. Although neither had said anything to the other, both the SST veteran and Sergeant Lohan were impressed with how efficiently Paula Edwards had moved them through the brush. She had obviously paid attention in training as she effectively moved the team around several obstacles with a minimum of impact on their time or cover.

As they approached the checkpoint, Edwards slowed her pace and carefully cross-referenced the terrain with the map she was carrying. They were only a little over one and a half kilometers from the aerodrome now, and the hair on the back of her neck was starting to bristle. Only a few days ago she'd been in her first firefight here. Truth be known, it was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. She had no desire to get shot at by Cylons again (or by anyone else, for that matter), but if a firefight came, she was ready. At least two Cylons had come to an abrupt termination in her sights. The Caprican cheerleader had proven her mettle in combat.

She took a few more careful strides then stopped. She re-checked her map one more time then looked around her to verify their actual location.

They were at checkpoint two. She had done it.

Edwards took a knee and then raised her left arm. With a brisk wave of her hand she signaled the team to drop-in-place and for Sergeant Lohan to move up on her. Lohan saw the signal and moved along the line. As he did he tapped Corpsman Miller and Adrian McElroy on the shoulders as he passed, giving them each a re-assuring acknowledgement that all was well…so far.

Lohan slid up behind the PFC who was in a defensive posture scanning with her NVG's and rifle at the ready. As she scanned the distant landmarks, she paused on one target. She reached up to her rifle's scope and adjusted the long range viewfinder. Confused at first, she could see lights in the distance then realized that it was the airfield beacon at the aerodrome.

"_How we doing, Edwards?" _Lohan's soft whispered tones were the first human voice she'd heard in the last two hours. "_Where do you put us on the map?" _The sergeant knew exactly where they were, but he wanted to give her the opportunity to verify the sitrep.

Edwards unfolded the map and spread it on her knee. "_Right here, Sergeant…We're right on Checkpoint Two. No unusual movements, but I see the aerodrome lights at three-one-seven…just a little over one click that way…" _Edwards raised her left arm up to point the relative direction towards the lights. Lohan brought his own binoculars up to look. She was exactly right. He could see the airfield beacon in the distance.

Lohan looked behind him and signaled Miller and McElroy to move up on them. They did so in a few seconds, keeping an eye around them for movement. As they stepped up to the spot, Miller and McElroy both gave PFC Edwards a "well done" pat on the back. No medal would ever provide the satisfaction that one got from peer recognition and acceptance.

"_Alright…" _Lohan knew they were probably a long way from contact but he kept the hushed whispers. "…_Edwards put us right on the money. We'll take ten here and then move out. We need to be at Checkpoint Three before daybreak, and that will put us in position to start recon on the aerodrome and the warehouses for the next forty-eight hours…Any questions_?"

Lohan could see the growing confidence in the other team members. He'd second guessed himself about putting the inexperienced PFC on point, but in the long run, it had been a good choice. He now allowed himself the luxury of sitting back for a few minutes to take in the scene around him. Corpsman Ethan Miller and Adrian McElroy were sharing a canteen while Edwards kept an eyeball watch on her optics. He could hear the wind in the trees and free water rolling over rocks of the near-by stream. In the distance he could see the sweeping flashes of light from Harlow Aerodrome's identification beacon. He could only wonder what dangers may lay at the base of that beacon.

His mind ran back over the events of the last few days. Each time was like re-winding a video over and over. And at the end of each re-wind was the image of the blonde woman being carried off by the Cylon Centurion. Was she a prisoner? Was she a hostage? Was she dead or alive? What could the Cylons have hoped to get from her?

He shook off his personal recriminations. This was it…No more drills…No more training…no more wondering if they'd ever _really_ need to worry about going to war or if they'd "measure up" under fire.

They'd passed their baptism of fire and came out the other side reborn…

As warriors.

NINE

Alyssya Teague sat in her quarters, her feet up on a small stool and the remote control for the television in her left hand. In the video player was an old movie, a musical, that she'd loved as a child. Menno Seven Three may not have much else to offer in the way of recreation, however the library had an extensive collection of video disks up through the last year's releases…Under the circumstances, it was unlikely that there'd be any new ones out for some time to come, if ever.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. She glanced at her watch…It was two o'clock in the morning…If this was Payge with some mundane maintenance issue, she was going to be pissed off.

"Hold on…I'm coming, " she barked out. Thankfully she'd unloaded her gear bag from the BeeCee and had her old slippers and robe to pull on as she hobbled towards the door.

Teague unlatched the door and pulled it open as far as the chain would allow it. On the other side was Don O'Banion.

"Hi Alie…can I come in?" Alyssya took in a shallow breath, trying to be discreet in her efforts to detect any alcohol on the newly-appointed engineer's breath. O'Banion shuffled his feet slightly but looked at her directly. If he'd been drinking, it hadn't been enough to leave any evidence.

"Uh…Yeah…sure…" she said. Teague pushed the door slightly closed to unlatch the security chain, then opened it fully to admit her former spouse. "Have a seat…" The small apartment was minimalist, but comfortable. O'Banion could hear what he thought was the television playing in the next room.

"Uhhh….I'm sorry, Alie. You have company?"

"No…just the video player…Remember "_Virgon Holiday_…?" She seemed a bit irritated that he'd assumed she had "company", as if the last few days had left any opportunity for socializing, even if she'd wanted to.

"So what's up, Don? What's with the two A.M. wake-up call?" Teague wasn't _completely_ annoyed by the intrusion, but it did seem a bit odd, even for her ex.

O'Banion shuffled towards the chair that Alyssya had offered him, but he balked short of sitting down. Teague was more than a bit surprised to see him this uncomfortable. He was bordering on nervous, actually

"Nice apartment, Alie…They really do try to make this place as comfortable as they can, don't they?" There was a marked uneasiness in his voice.

"Yeah...I can't complain, considering I just spent the last two weeks living in a faster-than-light sardine can. Now I'm in a bigger sardine can but with some elbow room, occasional hot showers and one trip around the sun every 300 days. But I can't believe you came here at this hour to discuss my interior decorator."

"No…I guess I didn't. To tell ya the truth, I really wasn't paying much attention to the time. It's pretty easy to lose track of that out here. Two A.M…Two P.M. it's pretty much…" O'Banion stopped mid sentence. He had caught sight of something familiar in the corner of his eye, and it surprised him. He moved to the end table by the small couch and picked up a familiar binder. A photo album, to be specific.

"Well frak me to tears! I didn't know you had this, Alie…I thought it was lost after that last move we made before the divorce!" Alyssya was caught by surprise and began to blush a bit. O'Banion opened the volume and started to thumb through the pages. He quickly glanced through them, occasionally pausing to glow over one picture, then to scowl over another. In either case, he was obviously excited.

"Oh my Gods, Alie! Were we ever _that_ young? And how come you still look this young and I look, well…I look _this old…_?" O'Banion sat down on the edge of the couch and laid the journal across his lap, slowly flipping pages.

Without thinking about it, the Chief slid around O'Banion and took a position on the arm of the couch, looking over his right shoulder. Afterall, how could she answer any questions about the photos when she couldn't see what he was looking at? Or at least that's how she rationalized the move to herself as she realized what she had done.

Truth be known, she had actually tossed the volume of pictures into the trash a couple of times. The first time, it showed back up on her doorstep with a note on it. "This fell out of bag as we loaded truck. Didn't look like something you meant to get rid of". It was signed "The Garbage Guy". She thought once to leave him a searing note: "Dear Garbage Guy…It's in the GARBAGE for a reason!", Yes, if it was in that bag, then damn it, she _really_ meant to throw it out! But as she flipped through it's pages, she thought better of it. She carefully wiped the old journal clean then placed it back on the book case.

The second time was right after she decided to divorce Hubby #2. She was on an anti-man frenzy, and although Don O'Banion was not party to that particular crisis, it didn't matter. He _was_ a man, ergo into the trash the volume went. It was only after knocking off a couple six-packs of beer and a half of a bottle of wine that something snapped in her and she began crying. She went out to the garbage and pulled the yellowing volume out of the trash heap, being careful to not allow any of the previous night's kitchen waste to soil the pages. When she awoke the next morning, she had the hangover from Hell, half of the contents of her drinking binge all over her jeans, blouse and most of the living room carpet, and the volume of old pictures of her and Don O'Banion tucked in her arms. She never knew why.

Maybe today was the Universe's way of answering the question.

O'Banion continued to slowly flip through the pages of the album, now aware that his ex-wife was leaning over his shoulder. "We had some pretty good times, for a couple of kids, huh, Alie?"

She thought to say something right away but hesitated. And she almost did…about how the times were good right up until he had one-too many to drink one night and then found his way into the bed of one of her friends…He'd never done it before, and had he not been blasted out of his mind, probably wouldn't have then, but she took it hard and wasn't about to compromise. Especially since three of her other best friends knew about it and cowed her into leaving him.

That was when she joined the Forces.

"Alie, do you think it was just plain blind luck that we wound up on this rock? I mean…what are the chances that of all the places to be in the galaxy, we wound up here…together…? This can't be random chance, can it…?"

Alyssya sat back and took a breath. What were the chances _indeed_. Not including the home worlds, there were maybe 20 inhabited moons and 50 asteroids like this one inside The Perimeter. The Cylons hit Azur'a hard, so there was every reason to believe that they probably hit the other significant moons as hard too. That Menno Seven Three had been missed or ignored was a profound stroke of luck. And that stroke of luck had put her and Don O'Banion here together. Well, now…_whose_ luck was _that_?

"I don't know, Don…" For the first time in almost two weeks her tone was almost like the teenager he'd known so many years ago. "I don't know what to think. It's almost too terrible to think about how we got here and what's happened. I still can't see anything but the worlds we left behind." Now her voice was beginning to break a bit. And without thinking about it, she put her hands on Don's shoulders.

Don O'Banion kept flipping through the pages, but the pace was slower now. He had maybe four or five pages left, and he was in no hurry to get to the end. Alie's hands on his shoulders felt reassuring. For a moment, there was hope of some future, even if it were within the confines of Menno Seven Three.

"Alie…" Don had let go of the album with his left hand and placed it over Alie's right hand as it caressed his shoulder. "I know we've been thrown together here and we probably wouldn't be talking had it not been for this tragedy…But…do you think…"

His own voice trailed off into a whisper. Alyssya slid off the arm of the couch, gently took Don O'Banion's face in her hands, and pulled him to her. She stopped short of kissing him, but only for a brief second. O'Banion took his breath from her. His pulse quickened and his hands became clammy.

"I forgave you years ago, Don.." she said in a soft, sultry voice. "Now shut up and kiss me…."

TEN

Sergeant Grant Lohan and the patrol had moved around the west side of the Harlow Airdrome under the cover of darkness and made their way to the warehouses north of the field. They'd made excellent time and were actually ahead of schedule so they decided to reconnoiter the warehouses and see if the Cylons had destroyed or otherwise moved the contents of the storage areas. After the firefight at the aerodrome last week, they'd be idiots if they didn't anticipate a follow-up recce mission to the warehouses.

Lohan and SST operator Adrian McElroy had taken positions within a dense hedgerow about 300 meters from one of the fire exits of the main warehouse while Corpsman Ethan Miller and PFC Paula Edwards did a force recon of the building. Lohan was pleased with himself with his choices for this team. All of them had proven themselves on this mission, Edwards most of all.

As he kept watch over their expected extract route, the young sergeant took the opportunity to consider some suggestions he was going to make to the Gunner. If the circumstances were to remain as they were, then they'd have to consider the organization of the detachment on Menno. Jarvis had been promoted to Corporal as they needed at least two NCO's in the detachment. Miller, a qualified recon man and the detachment's corpsman, was the equivalent of a Corporal already, but he wasn't in a leadership billet. Most of the other Marines in the detachment were Lance Corporals or PFC's. And after they got back to Menno, as far as he was concerned, there was going to be one more Lance Corporal promotion ceremony.

Lohan was redirected to the task at hand by the clicking of Adrian McElroy's knife handle against the butt of his rifle. He turned his eyes to McElroy, and McElroy pointed to the direction of the warehouse. With two fingers he indicated running people, signaling that Edwards and Miller were on the way back.

In an instant PFC Edwards broke through the edge of the hedgerow and was followed seconds later by Miller. Both dropped to their knees and took defensive stances as all four of the team members now scanned for any indication that the two had been seen or followed.

Assured that they were safe, they circled-up on Sergeant Lohan. Edwards opened her jacket and pulled out a crude map she'd drawn. She then pulled the connecting wire from her combat optics down and plugged them into Sergeant Lohan's master set. "_We got some sweet shots here, Sergeant…Looks like the Toasters have been busy, alright!_" The PFC, her breathing rapid but controlled, was obviously excited . "_We checked out the spots where those DRADIS controllers said they picked up the cargo pods from, and unless they were just way off on what they say they saw, it looks like there's a lot less here than what there was a week ago!_"

As the PFC plugged her video cable into the Sergeant's set, he could see the inside of the warehouse as she had seen it only minutes ago. Indeed, the warehouse appeared almost half empty. There was no way that the Harlow technicians had packed that much stuff into the few cargo containers that had flown out on the BeeCee the week before. Nor did he think that they over-estimated what they had seen in the first place. For whatever reason was bouncing around in their chrome-plated minds, the Cylons had come shopping.

_"Can you figure out what was missing?" _asked Lohan.

_"They didn't give us a detailed list of what stuff was in what row, but this warehouse was supposed to be mostly food and stuff. Wait…look right there_…" The PFC tapped a button and the view sudden came to a stop. She tapped another and the picture ran backwards several seconds, from which she resumed normal speed. "_See those tracks?"_ The PFC tapped yet another button and selected her virtual interface. Now her hand became part of the video. She pointed out several tracks in the dusty floor. _"See…those tracks on the left had to have been made several days ago…They've had time for dust to settle. The edges are rounded by fallen dust. That's what our people did last week." _Edwards showed the sergeant where the older tracks were. "_Now here…These tire tracks are sharp, well defined. These are new." _She paused for a second and looked up at the sergeant past her own display visor. "_Someone…and it wasn't us, has been moving freight in the last day or two…maybe even the last few hours."_

Lohan was impressed and had to agree. But Edwards' last comment raised the hairs on the back of his neck. She was right, of course. There had been vehicle movement in this warehouse since they evacuated the Approach Center last week. But who did this?

_"HIT THE DECK!" _Ethan Miller's words were hushed, but still louder than the whispers they'd been using, but it was enough to have the desired effect. Sergeant Lohan, Paula Edwards and Adrian McElroy all fell to a prone position without hesitation.

_"We've got a forklift and flatbed coming up the access road, a half click south!" _Miller called out the target and then Sergeant Lohan came up on his knees and elbows to crawl over to Miller's position to see what was coming for himself. Sure enough, a forklift with it's headlights blazing was coming up the access road from the direction of the airfield. Close behind was a flatbed truck, unloaded, it's lights on and apparently unconcerned about being observed.

_"What do you think, Sergeant?" _Miller was well concealed behind the edge of the brush but had a clear view of the road. "_More locals that got missed in the attack?" _

The sergeant got in behind Miller and pulled his binoculars up to his face. He trained them on the up-coming mini-caravan but couldn't see into the cabs due to the glare of the headlights. He reached up to the optics and flipped a switch. The filters option came on in his field of vision and he matched the headlights coming towards him. He adjusted the optics to filter that light out. As the filter cleared the picture, he got a view inside the cab of the forklift. He re-adjusted the optics for an up-close view. He watched for a few seconds, as if to assimilate what he was seeing, then offered the data port to the rest of the team.

_"Well…I'd say if these guys were local, then they're from the rusty side of town!" _he said with a bit of a snicker. Adrian McElroy was the first to get a glimpse of the enhanced view and just took a deep breath.

_"Now there's something you don't see every day! A Toaster driving a forklift! Next thing you know they'll be letting cake mixers watch television!" _The quip caught everyone else off guard and they all allowed a stifled, albeit nervous, laugh to slip.

Lohan hit the record button on his optics and began recording the view ahead of him. After he captured a minute of the approaching vehicles, he re-focused his view to the flatbed truck behind the forklift. The view into the cab was a bit more tricky to resolve since the view was not just obscured by the glare of headlights, but also by the tail lights of the forklift ahead of him. But as the forklift rounded a bend in the road, the cab of the truck came into clear view.

Lohan could tell there were two heads in the truck, but something wasn't right. He re-adjusted his view on the driver, and sure enough there was yet another Toaster behind the wheel. But when he re-sighted his view to the passenger seat, he couldn't believe his eyes! He re-adjusted the filters option, zoomed in two more factors of magnification, and then just gazed in amazement.

In the passenger seat was…Could it be…

_THE WOMAN FROM THE AERODROME…?_

_"Are you guys seeing this?" _Lohan was having a hard time getting a solid lock-on to the passenger seat, but of one thing he was sure. Whoever…_what ever_…was in the passenger seat was _not_ a Toaster! At least not like one he'd ever seen before!

Sergeant Lohan 's focus now changed. Was this the 'hostage' that they'd seen in the video back on Menno, or a willing accomplice? Certainly some pieces started to fit…Or seemed to, anyway.

Adrian McElroy disconnected from Lohan's data port and brought his own optics to bear on the approaching vehicles. He narrowed his view to the passenger side of the truck and adjusted his own filters. Sure enough, there was a woman in the passenger seat of the truck. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a woman he'd seen before. And _recently!_

_"Guys…does that passenger bear any resemblance to anyone you know?" _McElroy's tone was one of certain disbelief. He wanted to be sure that he wasn't the only one seeing what he _thought_ he was seeing.

PFC Edwards crawled up behind the sergeant, tapped him on the shoulder and handed him her data cable. He plugged it into his optics, and sure enough, she could see the woman too.

_"Miss O'byea…?" It CAN'T be!"_ Edwards' thought she could feel her jaw hit the ground. This couldn't be!

"_Wait…the trucks are about to pull up in front of the warehouse. We'll get a closer look then!_" Sure enough, the forklift came to a stop in front of the warehouse door and the truck stopped right behind it. As it did, the passenger door popped open and it's occupant disembarked. As the woman walked over to the door, her back was towards Sergeant Lohan's recon team, making it impossible for them to be sure of what they'd seen in the truck. The female figure walked into the office and the screen door closed behind her. Now clearly in the glare of the warehouse's safety lights, it was unerringly clear that the passenger was indeed a woman…a _human_ woman!

A few seconds later, the massive warehouse door began to lift open, and from inside came the same figure. The enigmatic woman stood by the door as it lifted, her back, unfortunately, turned towards the Marines in the hedgerow. She then waved the Centurion driving the forklift through the massive doors, then waved the other truck in behind it. Sergeant Lohan lost sight of the woman for a few seconds as the truck pulled in front of him, however as the end came by, he had a clear view of the warehouse door. He zoomed in on the woman, framing her and her alone in his field of view. He could see her long locks, pulled into a single pony-tail, flipping behind her as she watched the trucks pull through. Then, just as the last truck pulled by her, she looked back over her shoulder. There, squarely in the frame of his optics, was the face of Samantha O'byea!

_"SWEET LORD'S OF KOBOL!" _The sergeant just sat back on his gear pack, aghast at what he'd just witnessed. The other team members closed in on him, each shaking their heads in similar disbelief. "_If it's not her, then she's sure been swimming in the same DNA pool!" _Lohan suddenly realized that he needed to take a deep breath and think this through. He couldn't let the rest of the team see him so confused.

"_Sergeant Lohan…This can't be what it seems. I mean…She can't be in two places at once! Besides, we've all run across someone who looks like someone else we know in other places!" _PFC Edwards' words rang true. Yet there she was, the proverbial dead-ringer. Now what to make of this.

_"Alright, everyone, let's settle down…We've got to figure out what's going on here. I can't believe a human would be helping the Toasters unless they were being coerced or threatened. She may be a hostage or has family being held hostage in return for her cooperation. Let's get a grip on this…" _Now Lohan was against a wall. He couldn't believe that a human was part-and-parcel of the Cylon occupation without somehow being forced or intimidated. But this was going to have to go back to Menno, and he needed all the information he could get. A few optics views from 300 meters away wasn't going to be good enough.

_"Adrian…We're gonna need some more definitive intel, and we're not going to get it from here. Think you and Miller can get up to the warehouse windows and get some better video for me?" _

"_You need to ask?" _McElroy gave the sergeant an evil smile and a thumbs up. _"We're back in 20 mikes, Sarge. Don't get trigger happy!" _McElroy then turned to Ethan Miller, giving him a slap on the shoulder. _"Drop your backpack and canteens here. All we go with is our optics, ammo and weapons." _

_"McElroy…if you come back hasty, you push through and keep going. Edwards and I will take the defensive and follow after, got it?" _The sergeant wanted to make sure they understood the exit plan…Which in this case was going to be "Run-Like-Hell-And-Don't-Shoot-Friendlies!"

It would be a bold move, but one that would probably catch any pursuing Cylons by surprise. McElroy acknowledged the order then got to work.

McElroy and Miller both dropped their gear and checked each other over as was the routine. A slap on the shoulder indicated that all was ready-to-go. McElroy gave another thumb's up to the sergeant and then moved to the edge of the hedgerow. He scanned door-end of the warehouse and then each of the visible windows in turn for possible lookouts. When he was as sure as he could be that they were clear, he moved out and began to cross the field to the warehouse ahead.

Ethan Miller paused for a minute, then followed the SST operator through the hedgerow breach. PFC Edwards then moved up to the breach with the sergeant, scanning the field ahead and then turning 180 degrees to "check six". With only the two of them there, her responsibility now would be to make sure that nothing snuck up behind them. As she started to move along side the sergeant, he waved her to move down 50 meters. She did so slowly and took her position. Lohan was amazed at how she melded effortlessly into the darkness of the treeline. She must be part chameleon, he thought.

In the field ahead, Adrian McElroy tried to keep a low crouch as he ran towards the warehouse. He spied one, then another culvert along the way and made his way to each, staying low to try and keep his concealment. Behind him, Ethan Miller mimicked each dodge and weave, doing his best, too, to keep an even distance behind McElroy and taking his cues from the SST operator on when to tuck and when to run.

They were within a few meters of the warehouse when, from the north end of the building, they could hear the sounds of a ship approaching. It wasn't like any Raptor or Viper that Adrian McElroy had ever heard, so that only left one option…Cylon. In an instant he started to double back towards Miller who was at the last culvert they had stopped behind. As he approached, McElroy could see the Corpsman's head start to rise up over the berm.

As Miller raised his head up, he saw McElroy coming back at him at a run. _"Down! Down!" _McElroy called, motioning for Miller to hit the deck, and that's exactly what he did. As he fell to his chest, he slid down the culvert, feet first, to the drain pipe below him. The concrete structure was a bit more than two meters wide, but not by much. He ducked down into it and crawled back in a few meters to allow McElroy to get in behind him.

McElroy fell to his belly at the upper berm of the culvert and simultaneously spun around 180 degrees to see what was coming, kicking up some dust and gravel as he did. Just to the northeast end of the warehouse he could see light beams preceding the ship that bore them, gliding from behind the ridgeline. He started to allow himself to slip a little lower down the embankment above the culvert, trying to get as far behind the berm as he could, but still trying to see what was going on around him.

From the treeline, Sergeant Lohan heard the same unfamiliar whine of engines approaching and had taken refuge behind a small boulder that was enmeshed in the overgrowth of the hedgerow. To his right he could see PFC Edwards looking towards him for instructions, but all he did was hold his hand out to her, signaling her to lay low.

For that she didn't need instructions!

McElroy could see the approaching ship, and what he saw was amazing. A Cylon heavy shuttle was rounding the ridgeline, it's nose high and it's landing gear extending from the belly of the ship. It was then that he realized that the shuttle was going to land in the field just to his right, between him and the edge of the warehouse. As he watched, the shuttle slowed as it made it's approach, then swung about lazily to point it's aft cargo hatch towards the warehouse's main entrance. The shuttle touched down gracefully, it's cargo door opening almost immediately as the landing gear touched the ground.

Transfixed momentarily by the approaching shuttle, McElroy didn't notice at first that the main warehouse door was opening and the flatbed trailer that had entered earlier was now pulling out to meet the shuttle. Startled by the movement in the corner of his eye, he tried to get lower, as if he could melt into the ground. As the vehicle rounded the corner and came to a stop under the ramp of the shuttle, the female they'd observed entering the warehouse earlier dismounted from the truck. The flatbed was now loaded with pallet after pallet of produce and canned goods from the warehouse.

What in the name of the Lords-of-Kobol did they need with food, McElroy wondered to himself. Were they _that_ spiteful that they'd take what few provisions that stragglers might find and carry it off too? And if so, why not just blow it up in place? Why spend the resources to fly it out? Even the Cylons could only manufacture so much fuel so fast.

The woman approached the shuttle as two Centurions exited. If she was at all alarmed or uncomfortable with their presence, it sure as Hell didn't look like it to him. McElroy would've expected to see her run or the Centurions attack. Neither was the case, it seemed!

This didn't make sense…He watched intently for any signs of distress or anxiety. On the contrary. The woman was not only _not _under any duress, but she appeared to be _in control _of the events unfolding! McElroy watched intently as the enigmatic woman directed the Centurions as they moved the pallets and containers from the flatbed into the idling shuttle.

McElroy double checked his optics. He wanted to be sure that he got every second of this event that he could for the record. Sure enough, the "record" light was blinking in the corner of his visor. No one on Menno was going to believe that he was only meters away from a Cylon shuttle. Even more to the point, no one was going to believe that he was only meters away from a Cylon shuttle that was being loaded by Centurions that were being _supervised _by a _human!_

He plugged his optics into his remote visor and slid the binoculars up over his head, adjusting them to get the widest view possible.

The enigmatic woman passed in and out of his view repeatedly. There was no doubt now that he had her facial profile in the database. He watched while the Centurions loaded the shuttle. Finally, the last Cylon exited the back of the Heavy Raider. The enigmatic woman appeared to be talking to the Centurion who then proceeded to head towards the warehouse doors. Then as quickly as it had arrived, the shuttle's ramp was closing and the shuttle was lifting off, leaving the way it came. As the shuttle headed back to the north, McElroy could hear the echoing of the engines against the hills and the side of the massive warehouse. He'd not had a chance to get hearing plugs in when the shuttle arrived, so there was a pervasive ringing in is ears. Nonetheless, he could hear the sounds of nature return to normal as the intruding ship departed.

The Marines watched as the woman re-mounted the truck. The Cylon that had driven the forklift mounted up on the once-again empty flatbed. The team watched as the truck left to the south, disappearing around the corner. Suddenly McElroy realized that he was partially holding his breath, as if not doing so might reveal his position to the Cylons. He allowed himself the privilege of resuming his normal breathing, a loud rush of air momentarily fogging his face plate.

After a moment, Adrian McElroy rolled carefully, looking all around, then carefully slid down to the safety of the concrete culvert with Ethan Miller. He stopped for a second, looked around one more time to see if he'd been detected, then backed into the concrete pipe itself.

Specialist Miller saw the SST operator entering the culvert. "Hey Adrian…we ought to be glad these people are gone…" Miller quipped.

McElroy looked back over his shoulder. "Are you nuts?" he replied. "Why'd you say that?"

Miller just sat there for a second, patting the dry conduit under him. "Can you imagine what this place would be like if everyone was home…?"

McElroy dropped his head for a second, then had to giggle a bit. He had a point.

Thirty minutes later, McElroy glanced at his watch. They hadn't heard any noise from the direction of the warehouse in a while, so McElroy decided it was time to take a look-see and determine if it was safe to get across the field. Harlow's short rotational cycle was bringing sunlight their way in a hurry, and if they didn't get out soon, they'd be stuck here for the next eight hours. Since they had dropped their canteens and comfort gear at the hedgerow almost an hour ago, it would make for a long time without water or nourishment.

As he moved from the safety of the culvert, McElroy could hear the sounds of nature around him again. That was a good thing. Birds and insects tended to become silent when there was something foreign or dangerous in their environment and as such were a good indicator of lurking danger.

Adrian looked back across the field at the hedgerow, trying to get a glimpse of Sergeant Lohan's position. Unable to see anything in ambient light, he switched to thermal, and there he saw Sergeant Lohan holding up one arm to signal his position, obviously watching him on thermal too. McElroy returned the signal and then beckoned Miller to come on out to the edge of the culvert. As he moved in behind the SST operator, Miller gave him a tap on the shoulder to let him know that he was in position.

McElroy gave Miller a thumb's up and then got a lock on with Sergeant Lohan. He signaled all clear, but keeping low was still the mission at the moment. He'd gotten too close to Cylons tonight, and after what he saw tonight, nothing could surprise him.

Or so he thought.

ELEVEN

Alastair Kohn wasn't used to getting awoken by Samantha O'byea at any hour, let alone with some hint of urgency or anxiousness in her voice. But call she had, and she was insistent that Kohn join her in her office immediately. In light of recent events, though, he wasn't too surprised.

It took him only a few minutes to get a quick shower, pull on a jump suit and drive the kilometer from his quarters to center-rock where most of Menno's offices were. He parked his cart at the base of the hangar deck and took the elevator to the admin offices located just above the flight operations area.

As he stepped off the elevator, Kohn was aware of the complete absence of any other staff or activity in the offices. O'byea had made it sound as if some emergency existed, so he was surprised when he stepped off the elevator to silence. Why there wasn't anyone in the office besides him was confounding. At the end of the hall, however, Samantha O'byea's office light was on and he headed towards the door. As he approached the office, he saw her sitting in her chair, it's back turned towards the open door.

"Come in, Alastair." There was a decidedly different tone in her voice. Even with her acclimation to the circumstances at hand, this was a new affect for her. He was more than a little bit aware that 'something' was different. He didn't know what, but different none the less.

"So what's all the mystery at this hour of the morning?" Kohn looked around the room again to see if there were any signs he missed coming in, but the office was unruffled, as usual.

"Alastair, I'm more than a little bit worried that all of this military activity is going to bring attention to us that we can't afford right now. I am sure that Mr. Robbins and Gunner Kells have our best interests at heart, but it seems to me that we have been following the military's lead rather than insisting that the civil authority leading the military, don't you think?"

Alastair Kohn was more than shocked. He was flabbergasted. He was right when he sensed some new attitude in the Administrator's affect, but this was the _last_ thing he expected from her.

There was a deafening silence for a few seconds.

_"Excuse me?"_ was the best he could muster. He was obviously agitated.

"I didn't realize I was being obtuse." she replied. Now there was blatant arrogance in _her _tone. "I am not at all happy about the events of the last few days and I'm not so sure we should allow any more military operations from Menno without corporate advice."

Now Alastair Kohn was getting angry, and it was going to take some decidedly diplomatic posturing to avoid an argument that it seemed Ms. O'byea was jockeying for.

"And from _where_ do you think we might _get_ that approval, Samantha?" Only days ago he had been overwhelmed with her 'step up to the bar' attitude. Suddenly that was gone. He addressed her by her first name, not from a position of familiarity, but to bring her off her pedestal a bit. "I can guarantee you it's _not_ coming from the branch office on Aerilon!" The markedly sarcastic tone was intentional and the reference to the devastation on Aerilon was, hopefully, a wakeup call.

"The Emergency Operations Directive clearly states that in the advent of loss of communication for more than 96 hours, the site administrator, _that being you_, shall take such steps necessary to ensure the protection, safety and welfare of assigned staff and the facility, even if it means deviating from Corporate policy to _ensure_ the protection, safety and welfare of the staff and facility." Kohn knew that _she _knew this as well as he, but it obviously needed saying out loud.

"Now maybe Corporate didn't envision so catastrophic an event as the end of the world, but lady, that's _exactly_ what we have here! Aerilon is a smoking hole in space!" He stepped closer to the administrator's desk and thumped his index finger against the desk top to make a point.

"If the Cylons had just meant to send the Colonies a message, they would have struck one or two strategic military sites and then left us to lick our wounds. They didn't do that. Hell, they haven't shown up at Armistice Station in forty years yet they suddenly blast us back into the stone age? They _meant_ to _annihilate_ us, and if we don't do something to prepare ourselves to hunker down _here_, then they will have accomplished that!"

On that Alastair paused and backed up a step from Samantha's desk.

"Have you discussed this with Sven Robbins at all?" Alastair knew it was a rhetorical question. Of course she hadn't.

"No, and I don't intend to…Not yet, anyway. He's very close to Gunner Kells, and besides, the contents of Bay Four is his little project."

Alastair suddenly stepped back up to the desk and the movement startled the administrator. "No Samantha, Bay Four was _Corporate's_ 'little project'. Sven was drafted into it!" There was much that Alastair wanted to tell her about this deal, but facility administrator or not, she'd been left out of the loop on several aspects of the Bay Four issue for good reason. Kohn was not about to be the one to break that chain.

"By proxy we can assume Corporate's policy is to extend all possible cooperation to the Fleet where necessary since they allowed the placement of those assets here in the first place. And in case I need to remind you, right now, _it's necessary!"_

If Samantha O'byea had an agenda that she thought Alastair Kohn would fall in behind simply because she suggested it, she was sadly mistaken. And whatever had triggered her sudden questioning of the recon missions to Aerilon and Harlow, she seemed almost, well, paranoid.

"Is there something I need to know about, Samantha?"

Alastair Kohn locked eyes with her for several seconds. Yes…There was something different here…a new found arrogance….a new found agenda…but _what? _

Perhaps more importantly…_WHY?_

It was Samantha O'byea that blinked first, and she not only diverted her gaze, but turned away from the dock master. In the space of a few seconds, her affect _seemingly _changed yet again. "You're right, of course. I guess I just needed to hear it from someone I trusted. I guess I'm just overwhelmed by everything in the last two weeks." Her voice trailed off. She sounded almost apologetic, but it was…well…'practiced'.

"Well, if I've managed to calm your fears, then you won't mind if I get back to bed?" If Alastair's tone wasn't transparently impatient, his movement towards the door certainly was.

"No…of course not…I'm sorry I brought you out here at this hour, Alastair."

Samantha O'byea watched as Kohn headed for the elevator. She rocked back in her chair and clasped her fingers in her lap. She turned the chair 180 degrees to face the windows overlooking the hangar bay as the elevator door closed.

She suddenly had a new purpose in life, and she wasn't quite sure where it had come from. But she knew that her destiny was somewhere beyond the cavernous tunnels of Menno Seven Three. It was almost like someone threw a switch.

And as Alastair Kohn rode the elevator to the ground floor, he ran the events of the last hour through his mind. Something was seriously wrong, and considering the circumstances of the past two weeks, they bore discussing with someone else.

Now.

TWELVE

Adrian McElroy did a 360 degree eyeball sweep of the field around them. Dawn was approaching fast and already there were shadows beginning to sweep across the field between him and the hedgerow where Sergeant Lohan and PFC Edwards lay waiting.

Looking back one more time at the Marine's location, McElroy could see him giving a thumb's up via the night vision goggles.

"_You ready?" _He whispered to Corpsman Ethan Miller.

_"Yep. Good to go. Let's get the frak out of this ditch. I don't want to be here another eight hours!"_

McElroy raised up slowly and scanned the field one last time. Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, he began to move towards the hedgerow in a fast, low crouch. Ethan Miller then slid out of the culvert behind him, did a quick scan of his own and then followed suit behind him.

Half way across the field, McElroy ducked into the second culvert and dropped behind it. As he did, he turned to watch Miller approach. Suddenly he was aware of the sound of something like popcorn being cooked. To McElroy's horror, Ethan Miller came to an abrupt stop and fell to his knees, then to the ground, just five meters away. Blood splattered Miller's right shoulder and chest, some of it actually striking McElroy's goggles. Miller's face was in shock.

_"FRAK! I'M HIT! I'M HIT!" _McElroy could hear Miller scream out loud from his position behind the culvert. McElroy scrambled back to the edge of the parapet to see what was going on, but stopped short of going over it. His first instinct was to get to his comrade's side, but his training kept him in place. The Cylons knew that humans had a unique habit of allowing themselves to be swayed by the cries of a colleague who had been wounded, and were, as such, easy pickings for snipers. And knowing there were at least two Cylons on the roof meant he knew that he was going to be the next Toaster fodder if he did anything impulsive. That Miller was able to call out was a good sign…At least for now.

The SST operator brought his rifle to bear on the roof of the warehouse behind them and didn't see the source of the gunfire at first. He held his breath for several seconds then saw the tell-tale red scanner of two Cylon Centurions on the roof of the warehouse, each about 15 meters apart

There was no use being quiet now. The Cylons knew they were there. _"MILLER! Keep your head down! Two bad guys on the roof!" _he yelled. Then he thought to add _"How bad is it?"_

Ethan Miller now had to treat his most difficult patient …himself. He couldn't see the entrance wounds since he got hit from behind, but then it was the exit wound that would matter most. He dropped his rifle to his side and pulled the self-stick tape off of his armor. The bullets struck him at just the right places…There were gaps in the armor over the shoulder and just between his arm and the chest, and the Cylon rounds, by chance or design, had found their mark right between them. Miller tried to move his arm, and to his amazement, it moved, but not without searing pain. He then reached his hand in under the vest and found the other wound. Carefully he slid his hand in between his armor vest and his chest, and he could feel the oozing of blood in his shirt.

But what he found gave him some reason for hope. There was no 'pumping' arterial bleeding. The round that he thought may have gone through the chest area had actually just grazed him between his right arm and his chest. Thank Gods! No sucking chest wound.

_"ADRIAN! I can move! You got a bullseye on those bastards…?"_

Adrian McElroy moved back to a spot where he could un-sling his rifle and bring it to bare without exposing his head or actions to the roof of the warehouse. The Cylons were being cautious, too, as they had both ducked back down below the short wall along the edge of the roof. McElroy then switched his optics back on, selecting thermal imaging. "Sucks to be a machine right now" he thought to himself. Sure enough, through the thin brick façade of the roof edge, he saw the mechanical warriors.

Adrian had to think quick as daylight was approaching and options were dwindling. They had to do something. Reaching to his backpack, he switched his portable wireless on and plugged it into his optics port. "_Able Actual, this is Two, are you up?"_

To his relief, Grant Lohan had switched his own wireless on as soon as Miller went down. "_Two this is Actual, sitrep!"_

_"Actual, This is Two. Three is hit but reports he's able to bug out. I see two hostiles on the roof over the fire door. I am on video. Switch up for targeting!"_

The sergeant activated his own video and could see the two Cylons on the roof from McElroy's perspective. What's more, he could see new headlights on the access road coming quick. Things were getting uglier by the minute.

_"Alright, alright…I have the targets. But we have more hostiles coming from the airfield! On my mark, Four and I take the two on the roof then you get your asses back into the hedgerow! How copy?"_

McElroy didn't have to be told twice. He double-clicked the transmit button to acknowledge the order as he got ready to move up to Ethan Miller's position. He flipped the bulky optics off of his face and dropped his safety goggles down to avoid any shrapnel his eyes might catch.

As he brought his rifle to ready, he called out to the wounded Miller. _"MILLER! READY UP!" _Miller now knew that help was coming and that gave him some sense of relief. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, but knowing that there were prisoner-hungry Cylons close at hand kept him focused on getting out of harm's way.

_"READY UP!" _he called back. As he did, he turned over to look behind him and suddenly saw the red scanner of one of the Cylons on the roof. McElroy took aim at it and squeezed the trigger. A dead click was all the noise that came from the weapon. He then realized he was still on "safe". He cursed himself while madly thumbing the selector switch to the fire mode. As he did, the Cylon ducked back down. McElroy re-sighted on the roof edge. Seconds went by and McElroy waited for the Cylon to show himself again. Just as he thought he might have a target, the plumes of two rocket-propelled grenades streaked overhead followed by twin detonations on the roof. Much to his relief, McElroy could see parts of Cylons flying up through the air. His mis-step with the safety actually worked to his benefit. Lohan and Edwards had delivered a knock-out blow with rocket-propelled grenades. The approaching trucks wouldn't see McElroy's position…yet.

In the mean time, the injured Miller took the opportunity to roll to his belly, get to his knees, and dig his feet in to dash towards the treeline. To his relief, Adrian McElroy was only a meter and a half away and coming directly to him. In one swift, almost choreographed move, McElroy reached under Miller's left arm and behind him, grabbing him by his gear belt and pulling him to his feet. The two of them then turned to dash back to the breach in the treeline where Sergeant Lohan and PFC Paula Edwards were covering their retreat.

At the treeline, Grant Lohan could see both the retreating recon team and the approaching vehicles. Seeing McElroy and Miller get to their feet, he focused his attention to the vehicles. "_EDWARDS! Reload with RPG! I'm on the leader! You take the second truck! READY?"_

Paula Edwards had already re-loaded a rocket propelled grenade round after the successful attack on the two Cylons on the roof. She brought her launcher to bear on the approaching caravan and got a lock-on for the trailing truck. In the viewfinder she could clearly see the driver. She started to apply gentle pressure to the trigger but held short of sending the round downrange.

"_I'm tally-ho on truck two, Boss!" _she called on the wireless. But as she zeroed-in her targeting on the truck in her viewfinder, a sudden chill ran down her spine. In the passenger seat of the truck was the same female they had seen earlier! Her finger let off of the trigger.

"_Boss! The woman is in the truck! She's the passenger in dash-two!" _Now she was horrified. Pulling the trigger on the Toasters was a no-brainer. She was no more reserved about wasting a Cylon as she would be about popping targets back on the range…but a _human?_

Lohan hesitated too. He redirected his attention back to McElroy and Miller and saw them get on their feet and start the dash to the hedgerow. He then looked back to the trucks. As he did, he saw the trucks had stopped and the Cylons begin to dismount. Without missing a beat, the chrome warriors brought their own weapons to bear on the duo now running across the field and begin firing. So far they weren't firing on the treeline which told Lohan the Centurions on the roof hadn't been able to locate them or communicate their position to the approaching squad. At least that was one lucky break.

As the newly-arrived Centurions began their attack, Sergeant Lohan could see the female also dismount from her side of the truck. Although apparently unarmed, it was _equally_ apparent that _she_ was _giving the orders_! Who ever she was, she was _not_ a nice person!

Grant Lohan then did what he knew had to be done. He switched his weapon from auto-fire to single fire. He snapped the barrel support legs down and got into a solid stance behind the boulder. Just like he'd learned in sniper/recon school, he got a solid weld between his right cheek and the stock of the weapon. He snapped his targeting optics into the rifle and brought the scope to bear on the female. He lined-up the cross-hairs on her and slowly added pressure to the trigger. He exhaled as far as he could, then took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds then exhaled again. He bid himself be steady. He watched her for a second, still unable to believe what he was seeing. The pressure on the trigger increased, almost to the point where he knew the hammer should fall. But then it happened…In the middle of the confusion and fog of the attacks, the enigmatic woman paused for a second and raised her eyes to the hedgerow. Suddenly there was no noise. He couldn't smell the smoke of the gunfire or the fires consuming the burning Centurions. For in that moment, the woman seeming looked directly at Sergeant Lohan, and in that moment it was as if they were old friends, sharing conversation over a cup of coffee.

As she looked straight at him, Lohan let the pressure on the trigger relax for a second. Their eyes locked, almost as if there wasn't 300 meters between them. The pause lasted for but a second, as the enigmatic woman suddenly turned to the Centurions behind her. It was then that Lohan could see her trying to re-direct the Centurion's attention and began pointing in the hedgerow's direction. As she did, the Centurions began to turn towards the duo in the trees and bring their weapons to bear.

Now he was convinced.

Regardless of who she was or how she got here, she was a combatant…a combatant trying to kill him! Lohan regained his composure and again applied pressure to the trigger. The pull was steady and deliberate, his breathing controlled and steady. The trigger reached the end of its travel, flipped the sear cam, and the hammer fell on the round. At over two kilometers per second, the round crossed the field. It flew straight and true, finding it's mark dead-square between the eyes of its intended target, knocking the enigmatic woman, knees straight and arms outright, flat onto her back

The burst of blood prevented Sergeant Lohan from seeing the look of shock on the woman's face, and just as well. It had been only milliseconds, but they'd hesitated long enough. _"Area Denial Rounds, NOW Edwards!"_

The PFC slid down behind the berm of the hedgerow she was fighting from and started to change magazines. In the process, she pulled out one of the area denial rounds and loaded it into the RPG launcher tube of her rifle. The ADR's were one of the most lethal rounds carried by the team, short of nukes. They were mini-cluster bombs in a rocket grenade round and could blanket an area of many square meters. The fireworks about to follow ought to be spectacular, she thought.

The Cylons were now advancing past the truck, so Edwards let the first grenade round take out the lead antagonist. The other Cylons were apparently startled by the explosion and the sudden loss of instructions from the female. But they re-grouped quickly and began peppering the treeline with small arms rounds. She dropped to her knees again, re-loaded yet another ADR round and resumed her aiming position. She took careful aim and pulled the trigger. She watched the round as it arced up over three Cylons nearest the forklift. The round detonated directly over the trio. Three Cylons were now scrap metal.

So far, the thick foliage had been providing a good barrier between Lohan and Edwards and the Cylons, now only 200 meters away. The momentary surprise of the attack from the treeline was still disorienting to the mechanical Cylons, and the two Marines were each able to get re-loads into the tubes and on the way towards the approaching automatons with seemingly effortless efficiency. The damage being wrought on the Cylon patrol was telling.

For a brief second, the Cylons held their fire on the two humans retreating across the field. In that second it appeared as thought the Cylons were confused, seemingly searching for the source of the new attack on their numbers. It was long enough for Miller and McElroy to make it back to the safety of the breach in the hedgerow. As they cleared the edge of the overgrowth, Miller fell to his knees and let a cry of pain loose. Of all of the things to hit on a sturdy sapling as they came through the breach, he struck his wounded right shoulder. McElroy spun around to help the wounded medic, but Miller turned him away.

_"Grab your gear, man! Left's get the frak out of here! I'll be OK!" _Miller shouted. McElroy looked Miller in the eye for a second and could see his color. He was pale, but his eyes were still focused and clear. The blood loss on his tunic was significant. McElroy wasn't a medic, but he could guess how much blood the medic had lost, and it was significant.. But he could stand and run for now. Funny thing about adrenaline…Just a little bit could make up for a _whole lot_ of blood loss when the chips were down. And right now, Miller was pumped full of it.

Adrian grabbed his gear pack and canteen belt and, as they had briefed before, started to head out the other side of the hedgerow to the next field beyond. It was only a small gap in the treelines, but it left him feeling naked in those brief seconds.

Miller, too, grabbed his rucksack and headed for the adjoining treeline. The pain in his right shoulder and flank were screaming at him for attention, but he knew there was no stopping now. They had to make it out of this embattlement or they were screwed. He snatched up his pack, threw his canteen belt over his left shoulder and glanced back over to Sergeant Lohan. He and PFC Edwards were both lobbing ADR's towards the approaching Cylons. _"SERGEANT LOHAN! We're out!" _Miller didn't take the time to key the wireless…He was only 2 meters away from the Marine.

Lohan acknowledged the call with a thumb's up and a wave to keep moving. He was obviously intent on stopping the approaching Cylons. If he and Edwards didn't at least slow them down, they'd all be dead or prisoners in the next two minutes.

The sergeant loaded one ADR grenade round after the other, followed by bursts of rifle fire. His movements were fluid and effective. One-by-one, the Cylons began to fall.

Paula Edwards, too, was lobbing grenade rounds with intermittent rifle fire between. The ADR's were pretty effective, but her first rifle rounds seemed to ricochet off of the chest of the hulking Centurions. She could literally see sparks fly as the rounds met metal.

_"TWO ADR'S LEFT, SERGEANT!" _Paula realized that she'd gone through the few Area Denial Rounds she had, and then it was going to be back to a plain-old gunfight after that.

"_RIGHT! There's only three of the bastards left fighting! Let's get them and call it a day!" _Lohan stopped firing for a second to get a breath and size-up the battlefield. The Toasters had put eight Centurions and the woman into the fight plus the two on the roof. That was six down. _"Alright…we focus fire…On my count, we take the closest one, then next up and tail-end Charlie last Save the ADR's because we may need them later. Ready?"_

Lohan and Edwards both slammed in full magazines, re-cocked and took aim. Each took careful aim and focused their rounds on the remaining Cylons. _"Ready Boss! I'm on target!" _Lohan could almost hear excitement in the PFC's voice. At a moment like this, most men might be scared to death. Lohan was proud.

Meanwhile the Cylon rounds continued to tear up the forest around them. The thick scrub foliage of the hedgerow slowed a lot of the rounds as they came through, but they came through none-the-less.

The Cylon rounds had chewed up the brush in front of the small boulder that the sergeant was behind, and now chips of the rock started to splinter off and fly all around him. Small, hot fragments of shattered bullets and stone bounced off his cheeks. "_THAT WAS FRAKKIN' CLOSE, DAMN IT!" _cried out the young sergeant. If not for his safety goggles, he'd probably be out of action right now with debris in his eyes.

"_COMMENCE FIRE_!" ordered Lohan. Both of them switched to full auto, took aim, and let loose. The effect was devastating. The closest Cylon spontaneously fragmented into a thousand pieces with only a few second's worth of fire. Lohan and Edwards then re-sighted on the next closing Cylon and repeated the task, that one too succumbing quickly. Finally, they took aim on the third and final Cylon, but by now it was trying to evade the withering attack. Both Marines held their aim on it, though, and it fell in a shower of expended rounds and dismembered parts.

Suddenly the night air was silent. Lohan scanned the field ahead of him and saw nothing moving. The silence and stillness were total. No gunfire. No birds. No insects. The only thing Lohan could hear was his own pounding pulse and racing respirations, and the only thing moving was the occasional reflections of the green-and-white aerodrome beacon light in the distance. The smell of gunpowder, splintered trees, fresh dirt and burning metal filled the air. He quickly scanned for any more movement from the Cylons ahead of him. Satisfied that the fight was over, he keyed his wireless.

_"Clear!" _he called.

Edwards, too, was almost overwhelmed by the sudden silence. She also scanned the field for any movement, then immediately spun about and checked her six. In all of the confusion and tension of the fight in front of her, she had been negligent in making sure they were clear behind, too. She made several left-right-left passes, her right finger holding slight pressure on the trigger as she did. Seeing nothing, she allowed herself to relax a bit, rising from her stooped position She then keyed her own wireless, almost yelling into the microphone as if to overcome the ringing in her ears.

"_Clear!_" She called, startling herself at the sound of her own voice.

The whole battle had lasted less than five minutes, yet it seemed like an eternity since she'd last heard it this quiet. Like Lohan, she could hear her own pulse banging in her ears, and she was almost certain that her breathing could be heard far across the field. She had a near death-grip on her rifle and a hair-pin tension on her rifle's trigger, ready to resume firing at the slightest movement from the field in front of her.

Lohan took stock of the field then satisfied himself that all of the targets were down for good. _"Edwards! Bug out NOW!" _hollered Lohan.

Without hesitation, Edwards got to her knees, then to her feet, scooping up her backpack as she went. As she stood, she pulled the now-empty magazine from her rifle, and exchanged it from her kit for a loaded one. She slammed it in, re-cocking the rifle as she headed out of the hedgerow in the same direction that Adrian McElroy and Ethan Miller had taken only seconds ago.

Sergeant Lohan watched as Edwards fell back through the back opening in the hedgerow and then waited for a moment before picking up his own gear. He stood slowly, allowing his arms to drop to his waist. He scanned slowly, gazing to examine the now-silent battlefield. It was strewn with the shards of what had been the Cylon patrol. Near the edge of the warehouse he could see the now-lifeless body of the enigmatic woman, lying in an expanding pool of blood.

As the young Marine's pulse began to slow, he began to do what he knew was the most dangerous thing he could possibly do right now: He began second guessing his actions in the fight. He knew that he had to make a split decision in the heat of the moment, and no doubt that the woman would have brought exacting fire on him and PFC Edwards had he not acted. But now he had time to ask himself questions he dared not ask only a moment ago. Who was she? How had she come to be in command of a squad of Cylons? And most importantly, _why?_

But the decision had been made. The fight was over and even though Miller was injured, _they_ were going home and the Cylons weren't. That was the way it was _supposed_ to be. _Wasn't it?_"

The young NCO slung his rifle around his right arm and then un-strapped his helmet and goggles with his left. He took one of the canteens from his belt, took a deep swig, then pouring a liberal amount over his face and matted hair. The cool water felt good, and it cleared the hot, stinging sweat from his eyes. He shook the excess off, then looked back over the now-silent battlefield. He stood there for a moment, just gazing into the distance, staring at the now-lifeless body of the enigmatic woman. He kept asking himself the same questions over and over, but found no answers. After a moment, he heard the crackling voice of PFC Edwards on the wireless wondering if he was alright, and did he need any help. He carefully replaced his helmet, double clicked his wireless transmit button, then slowly turned and started to follow the patrol into the approaching dawn.

"Lord's of Kobol, forgive me……"


	5. Chapter 5

PART FIVE

_The Darkest Hour of Night_

Chapter One

Gunner Kells and Sven Robbins sat in silence with their hands clasped politely in their laps. From the wall of Sven's apartment came the ever present ticking of the old wind-up clock. From outside they could hear the occasional passing cargo cart moving Tylium ore from the few active core sites to the refiner.

Sven moved to the edge of his chair. "Alastair, I don't know where to go with this. To be sure, we've all gone through Hell in the last two weeks. Are you sure she's not just a bit shell-shocked?" Sven had known the dock master for years and knew he was a practical, level-headed person, but this was a bit bizarre, even for him.

"I'm reading her bio here." said the Gunner. He had a laptop computer plugged in and was reading from it. "Devout Saggitaron parents. Top of her class at C.U.B.E. Only one 'significant other' relationship of any consequence which ended just before her posting here. Exemplary fitness reports since signing on at OBMI. No vices reported and none apparent. She doesn't smoke, doesn't drink. No military service. She's been the administrator here for two years."

"Does it tell you about her parents?" Alastair's question was surprising. "Does it tell you about them?"

"No…why should it?" inquired the Gunner.

"Her mother and father were held prisoner by the Cylons for over a year. The mother reported being held in some sort of medical facility but hasn't been able to recount the events, even under deep hypnosis. She came home with two abdominal surgical scars that she didn't have before the war and no apparent shrapnel or exit wounds. Her father was kept in some other medical facility for a few weeks too…a month, maybe, then wound up in a labor camp. He has similar memory loss of the whole event except for bits and pieces. They were re-united after the war. Samantha was the youngest of three, and all three reported to have been very closely sequestered most of their growing years."

The Gunner flipped through several pages of the report, then back again.

"Nope…nothing here about that. But what do you suppose one has to do with the other, Alastair? That kind of memory loss isn't unusual with that kind of mental trauma."

There was a long pause. "I don't know…" he said as he threw up his arms in frustration. "Haven't you ever had an itch that was just out of reach? Well…this is one of those." It was apparent that Alastair was reaching for something just out of his grasp.

The room was silent for a moment again except for the ticking of the clock. It was Sven Robbins that broke the interlude. "Alright, Alastair…let's say that she _is_ having a 'conflicted moment'. So what now? She's not done anything wrong except let us know she's vunerable right now. But then who isn't?"

The Gunner chimed in. He thought to play Devil's Advocate for a moment. "I don't know what we can do, Sven. I mean, all she did was question the wisdom of conducting flight ops from here, and Hell, _even you_ had similar reservations only a few days ago!" The Gunner's tone was both joking and serious, but he made a point. For that matter, even the Gunner had reservations about them flying too soon after the attacks. But if they hadn't, they may not have gotten the Harlow Center folks out and manage to triple the food stores in the warehouse now.

Alastair was getting frustrated and maybe even a bit agitated. _"They think I'm kidding or gone over the top, I'll bet" _he thought to himself.

"OK, guys. We keep this under wraps for now." Sven could tell that Alastair was sincere, but then what had O'byea done wrong other than let her guard down for a moment? "We don't need to be seen as formenting any effort to undermine her authority here." Sven turned to face the dock master. "Alastair…Where are the miners and staff about this? Any chatter in the chow hall?" Sven realized he'd been so focused on the other mission that he'd not paid much attention to details inside Menno.

"To be truthful, I can't say. But I think it would be a wise move to get Don O'Banion in on this and get his input. Although O'byea made him lead engineer, he's still head honcho for the longshoremen. He's been doubling as the assistant mining supervisor, too. If anyone's got the pulse of the mining staff, it would be him."

At just that moment Sven's phone rang. "Robbins…." was his simple greeting.

There was a pause for a few seconds. "OK, Jahlee, gimme 20 and I'll meet you in Preflight, OK?" There was another pause and the call ended.

"OK guys, we're only six hours from bringing the Team home. They should be at Extract Alpha in four hours…So, do we have some concensus on how we want to handle this?" Sven shifted his gaze back-and-forth between the dock master and Gunner Kells.

Each of the men looked at the other. "I say that fore-warned is fore-armed." The Gunner hated cliché's but this one fit. "I don't know that we need to do anything overt at this point. She's young and scared. But we keep this to ourselves for the moment, other than Don O'Banion. Alastair, you know him best…You wanna take this to him?"

"And what am I going to say to him?" Alastair asked.

"Nothing, Alastair…Nothing…Just _ask_ him what he hears and how the mining staff is holding up. Let's not prejudice him one way or the other and see what floats to the top, OK?" Sven was gathering up his flight gear and jacket. He was ready to go.

"OK…say nothing but ask questions!" Alastair was a bit sarcastic although he knew what Sven was getting at. "Need a ride to Ops?"

It was a short ride to flight planning from his apartment, but Sven wasn't about to pass up a chauffeured ride. "Sure…Dewayne, you coming?"

The Marine Gunner rose slowly and headed towards the door. "Nah…you guys go on, I'll be there in a few minutes. Corporal Jarvis will be at my quarters in a couple of minutes for the daily sitrep. I'll see you there."

The three shook hands and the Gunner watched as his old friend and the Menno dock master headed towards the main flight operations bay. He'd considered the consequences of an attack on Menno, worsening rations, and even the loss of the ability to re-fresh their air and water…He'd not given any consideration to the 'politics' of their new-found society.

With less than 300 people on Menno right now, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to manage things without a formal government, thought Kells. But the Colonies themselves had fought several devastating and horrific wars over some of the most petty and insignificant political hogwash in the universe. There were bound to be people on Menno who would follow Ms. O'byea without question for any number of reasons. Whether for company loyalty or mistrust of the military, it didn't matter. Likewise there would be those who would que-up behind anyone who wanted to put the responsibility of governing Menno into the hands of the military, even if it was just the small detachment of Marines and fleet personnel here.

Right now, Gunner Kells would rather be _anything_ than a bureaucrat….But that's exactly what he'd become if they didn't do something to shore-up Ms O'byea's administration of the facility. If not, they'd have to take at least some running stab at forming some sort of body of advisors if not an elected council itself.

"_Frak" _he thought to himself…"_I'm already thinking like a politico_. _Maybe there's a pill I can get for it before it gets any worse…_"

The Gunner walked down the hall and took a left turn to find Corporal Jarvis standing at parade rest in front of his own apartment door. The corporal saw the Gunner as soon as he rounded the corner and immediately came to attention. He snapped a salute so fast the Gunner could hear the air moving over his arm.

"_Life is so much simpler in the Fleet". _

Too late to retire now!

TWO

Sergeant Lohan bent over Corpsman Ethan Miller. The bleeding had stopped but the wounded medic was still in a lot of pain. No doubt he'd be in a lot more over the next five hours since they had that long until the extraction Raptor arrived.

"How's it going, Miller?" The question was rhetorical. He looked miserable.

"Like crap, Sergeant. All the parts are still there and I'm able to whine about it, though…" At least his sense of humor was still intact. "Did you get the bleeding stopped?"

"It looks pretty good to me. Think you can hang in there a few more hours?"

"Yeah, but I've got a problem, Sarge, and I can't do this myself. I need IV fluids. My heart rate is way up and my blood pressure is dropping. I'm in early shock. You need to open my bag and get some stuff out for me…"

Lohan looked to Paula Edwards who had overheard them and was already sliding the medic bag to the young NCO. He took it, laid it out flat next to the fallen medic and then un-zippered the sides of the bag.

"OK, Doc…Here's your stuff…Now what?"

Miller got a bit of a crooked grin on his face. "Start the IV, Sarge…You guys did that in Combat Rescue Training, didn't ya?"

Lohan suddenly manifested a look of shock and disbelief. "You _want me_ to stick a needle in your arm?" The young sergeant was still awestruck. "Wouldn't you be a lot better off if I just shot you now and got it over with?" Lohan's tone was both sarcastic and a bit anxious. They'd only done three successful IV sticks in training to get certified and that was five years ago.

"Ain't nothing to it…I've got veins you can drive through…" Miller held up his left arm and sure enough, even without a tourniquet the veins in his arms were huge. At least that gave the Sergeant some confidence. "Besides, the IV kit is laid out from left to right with the stuff you need…Just remember, you can't hurt me any worse than I am already without it!"

Again with the chuckles, but then knowing that the Corpsman had enough wits about him to joke a little was re-assuring. The sergeant turned to McElroy and Edwards. "Paula, take defensive watch. Adrian, spike the fluids for me and let's get this over with." It had to be done, so might as well get on with it.

"Let's go for the forearm, Sarge. If it's in the bend of my arm it won't run consistently." The Marine made eye contact with the wounded medic and gave him an acknowledging nod.

He took the skin sterilizer from its pack and swabbed the Corpsman's forearm. He then looped the tourniquet just below the elbow and the veins in the Corpsman's mid forearm immediately welled up. He put the protective gloves on and unsheathed the IV catheter itself. Taking Miller's arm under his, he lined up the catheter with the vein. "Here goes nothing…"

"Just be sure to "pop" it in, Sarge, and make sure the beveled end of the catheter is up. You won't do me any favors by trying to go slowly, either. It will just push the vein around and it'll hurt like Hell!" The Corpsman watched as Sergeant Lohan lined up the needle and prepared to puncture the skin. Miller looked up at the sergeant. "Looks good so far…"

The sergeant hesitated for a second then pushed the IV catheter into Miller's vein with his right hand. He felt a slight 'pop' as the catheter entered the vein just like the medic said it would. There was an immediate 'flash' of blood into the reservoir at the end of the catheter. He tried to steady his shaking hand as he threaded the catheter into the vein with his index finger.

"I'll be damned!" The relief was palpable as Lohan could hear everyone, including Miller, let out a deep sigh. The sergeant held pressure on the insertion site with his left hand as he withdrew the needle. He quickly snapped the end of the IV access port onto the hub and the IV port was ready. They'd now be able to connect and disconnect IV fluids at will. PFC Edwards handed the sergeant several pieces of tape she'd torn. Lohan then followed Miller's instructions on how to secure the whole affair to his arm. Hardly a drop of blood was lost.

Adrian McElroy reached over the sergeant's shoulder and handed him the end of the IV tubing. He then taped the end of that to the fallen medic's arm and opened the stop-cock. The saline solution flowed readily into his arm. Seeing the fluid run in, McElroy gave the sergeant a congratulatory slap on the shoulder.

"If you ever decide to leave the Marine Corps, Sarge, you can join the Medical Corps. I'll vouch for you! You won't even have to change your monograms!" Lohan took the Medic's offer as a round-about compliment.

They hung the bag from a low-lying tree limb and Lohan buried the now-discarded IV trocar and rubber gloves. No used getting stuck twice by the needle, he thought. Once the needle was safely buried he allowed himself a moment to stop shaking. He shook off the anxiety of having just put a needle in another man's arm, something that, truth be known, almost made him faint!

It took him a moment to regain his composure, but the imperative of the moment was to get the team to Extract Alpha as soon as possible. He took a long swig of water from his canteen and then pulled his map case out.

"Alright, everyone, gather round." McElroy and Miller moved in closer to the sergeant and Miller. "We're two clicks away from Extract Alpha and five hours away from Bingo. The extract team will be here at 19:00. They don't know they're coming into a potentially hot LZ, so we need to be at Alpha well in advance."

Lohan had his maps rolled out and was pointing to the field where the Raptor was expected. "Here's Extract Alpha…" He moved his finger from one spot to another spot on the map. "We're here. The good news is that we're in some of the hilliest terrain with some of the most dense foliage on the rock so it will be hard for the Toasters to track us." Lohan paused for a second and could see the other three nod and smile. Any suggestion that the Cylons might be slowed down was a good one.

But then he continued. "The bad news is that we are in some of the hilliest terrain with some of the most dense foliage on the rock so it's going to be a motherfracker to move through and get there on time." They nodded, but this time with groans instead of smiles. "We can't afford another contact with the Toasters and we can't afford to not be at Alpha on time. Any questions?"

Lohan looked around the circle. No one was talking so he took that as a 'no'.

"McElroy, you're back on point, and Edwards, you're on Miller. I've got the six covered. We let Miller get two bags of fluids and then we bug out. We clear?"

He knew that it was going to be rough enough going, but escorting an injured man was going to make it worse. But then Miller hadn't shown any signs of slowing down, either. At least they'd be able to keep his IV access intact and could re-attach him later if need be.

"Time check. It will be 13:51 Caprica Nominal in three…two…one…_hack!" _All of them hit the reset on their chronometers simultaneously. "It'll take 45 minutes for the IV fluid to get in, so everyone use this time to clean, re-load and get a bite to eat. Our next meal is on Menno Seven Three."

Lohan watched as the others spread out and began the 'housekeeping' chores of re-loading magazines, burying waste and still keeping an eye out for hostiles. The life of an infantry Marine was all about multi-tasking and from what Lohan could see, he was in the middle of the best.

While the others went about their duties, Sergeant Lohan dropped his optics visor down and re-set the play time to the firefight at the warehouse. He watched as the fight evolved and the role of the enigmatic woman. He hit freeze-frame and zoomed in on her face. There was no doubt. This woman was a spot-on twin for Samantha O'byea. He sat back, the scene froze on the screen in front of him. It was more than just coincidence that the enigmatic woman _looked_ like O'byea. He restarted the video and watched her hands and the way she walked. He only wished he could have recorded her voice as she gave orders on the battlefield.

"_Sergeant! Movement! We've got company!" _Edwards' warning sent a chill though him as he snapped his visor back up and hit "real time" on the recorder. He brought his rifle up across his chest and made ready on the firing selector.

"_Whereaway?"_ He was on his feet in a second and moved over to the PFC's position. He glanced over to Miller who had already pushed himself back under the brush he'd been resting under and pulled the IV bag in with him. McElroy was moving to help him.

Edwards was laying under a large bush facing south. She had her own rifle at the ready, obviously tracking a target. "_Five hundred meters dead south. I make four Centurions. They're not directly following us, but obviously doing a grid search. They're moving east now. If we move north and move now, we can put some distance between us and them._"

Lohan watched as the Centurions, moving eastbound, lumbered through the thick brush. They may be machines, but they still had to contend with the same laws of physics as the humans did, and that meant being slowed down in the thick brush. But Edwards was right. The time to go was right now.

"_OK…we bug out north. McElroy, get Miller ready to move. Clamp the IV and stick it in his backpack!" _

The surveillance technician did as told and Lohan tapped Edwards on her shoulder and waved her out from under her cover. Slowly she started to inch backwards, taking care to not unduly move the shrub she was laying under. Creating any movement or noise would be real, _real_ bad right now. But as she slid back, she felt her load belt catch a branch of the bush. She froze. She started to slide forward again in an attempt to un-do the entanglement. Again she started to slide backwards only to find that the branch was still engaged in her belt.

Once more she slid forward, this time a little farther forward in hope that the offending branch would slide out of her belt. As she did, the branch suddenly let go and the whole bush shook. She froze.

Everyone else on the team heard the rustle of the bush, too, and likewise made like statues. Slowly Sergeant Lohan turned to look in the direction of the Cylon patrol. Sure enough, one of the Centurions had come to a halt and was looking in the direction of the Recon Team's position.

Then, seconds later, as if it had been planned that way, a swarm of songbirds suddenly took flight from a tree canopy only 100 meters to the west of the team's position. The Centurion watched as the flock of birds furiously circled the clump of trees they'd just alighted from. From the base of the trees came three wild daggits. The canines vainly tried to chase after the birds, the escaping prey having successfully avoided becoming dinner for the scavenging animals.

The Centurion turned his head back towards his colleagues, each appearing to make 'eye contact' with the other. If they were communicating, it wasn't by audible voice. A few seconds later, the Cylon patrol resumed their original course, apparently satisfied that the daggits, and nothing more, had been the source of the noise.

The team remained hunkered down for a good two or three minutes after the encounter. Sergeant Lohan slowly raised his head back up and began a slow scan of the area. The Cylons had moved another 300 meters to the east. He looked back along the path that they had come in on and didn't see any followers. Time to go.

_"Alright…they're gone, but so are we…we can't wait. Miller, you good?"_

The Corpsman, with only half of his IV fluids infused, gave Sergeant Lohan a positive nod. He was still pale, but at least his lips had some color to them again.

"_OK…McElroy on point. Fast and quiet, everyone! Let's get out of here."_

Whatever the Cylons were planning, making it easy for the team to get to Extract Alpha was not on the list.

THREE

_Aboard Baseship Hotel Three Alpha_

"Brother Four, what news of the happenings on Harlow's World?" The female form approached the sensor monitoring console where the male human form stood while the Centurion stood guard in the corner.

"There's been another contact with humans, Sister Six. Two sentries at Warehouse One observed a reconnaissance force of unknown numbers approaching the facility. They engaged the Colonials but were destroyed. When a Sister Three and the work party came to their aid, they were themselves destroyed. Again, the numbers are unknown. The Colonials retreated into the forest. The remaining Centurions are searching for them now."

"And what of the supply shuttle? Were they attacked?"

"No, Sister. It would appear that the Colonials were either not there when the shuttle came, or they chose not to approach the warehouse until after it was loaded and left. The shuttle made it safely to our companion baseship. In either case, I think we should assume that there is a Battlestar or Star Cruiser nearby that escaped the neutralization. The Central Cylon reports they cannot account for at least four Battlestars and several cruisers. Obviously some Colonials have found a refuge we overlooked."

The female form stood quietly over the console for a moment. "How many inhabited asteroids, moons or planetoids are there within the Perimeter, Brother Four?"

The male form passed his right hand over his console and let it settle into a datastream port. His gaze fixated for a moment, then he removed his hand from the stream.

"There are over 120 lesser occupied satellites within the Perimeter. We have neutralized more than sixty of them. Of the remainder, only half were considered large enough to house colonies of 150 humans for more than thirty days, which was the criteria for employing neutralizing force. Of those, fifteen have sleepers on them. Most were remote mining colonies that will not be able to function more than a few weeks to a few months without re-supply from the Colonies."

"And how many of those facilities are within the jump range of a Colonial Raptor from Harlow's World, Brother?"

Only five, Sister. The Vergisaw mines. We do not believe them to be active, but all are capable of housing humans. Vergisaw 3 and Vergisaw 9 were known to have Colonial Forces monitoring stations on them but both were destroyed. The other facilities remain intact. There are others further out but they are considered insignificant." Brother Four paused to allow his superior to assess the data. He thought to ask about other potential variables to the search parameters, but she seemed content with the response she received.

"Shall I send patrols to those places, Sister?"

The female form processed the data and then allowed herself to try and put herself in the place of the Colonials. It was not easy. Human decision making was not an easily assimilated subroutine.

"Yes, Brother Four. But only a single Heavy Raider to each location…No fighters. If the Raider happens to be detected the humans will only think it to be a lost ship or transiting along a translight course. We have reports of human activity near all of the homeworlds, albeit small numbers. Certainly they may have a secret base we've not found, even in their most well-protected files. It would be a tremendous find if we were to discover the location of this nest, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes it would, Sister. I will prepare the mission profiles and download them to the Raiders. I will notify you immediately if any of them report any human activity."

"Indeed…and remember, Brother…The Raiders are to be strictly instructed to avoid contact. Even if they are scanned, they are to ignore it as if they didn't detect it. Only if they are directly attacked are they to fire their weapons. Understood?"

"Understood, Sister. It shall be done."

The female form turned to leave but then she stopped abruptly. She turned to face the male form once more. "And let's keep this to ourselves for the moment, shall we Brother? There's no use alerting The Others unless we have facts to report.".

The male form nodded. But he knew this had nothing to do with falsely alerting the others. It had to do with prestige. The Central Cylon sought to emulate the human species as closely as it could in the Twelve Models. It now seemed to Brother Four that many of the human's _weaknesses_ had somehow seeped into the programming too.

But maybe it wasn't programming. Perhaps it was evolution? But in a machine? Perhaps. For was it not the humans that created the Cylon in the first place? Wasn't it due to the mankind's efforts to impart artificial intelligence to his predecessors that had precipitated the Cylon / Colonial War? Had it not been the Cylon's desire to exceed it's programming that had brought them to this day? Brother Four was amazed how one question could lead not to an answer, but even more questions. Perhaps it was this very convoluted thinking that so impaired the human's capacity for rational thought, he mused.

His affirmation of Sister Six's order notwithstanding, this would warrant discussing with The Others at some point in time.

But not now.

For now, he would obey his orders.

Afterall, he didn't want to wind up like Brother Seven.

FOUR

Dewayne Kells entered the Ready Room a few minutes before the briefing was due to begin. In the back, Specialist Kevin Payge and Bekka Robbins were chatting and preparing the video player that would project the maps for the crews. On the far wall was Senior Chief Alyssya Teague with Plane Captain Jennie Yoder and two of the other deck crew. Bekka Robbins' face lit up when she saw Kells enter the room. She put the remote for the TV into Kevin Payge's hand and bounced across the room.

"Uncle Deke! I'm so happy to see you! What are you doing here?"

The Marine gave Bekka a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Bekka was his God-Daughter, afterall, and although he'd been on Menno for these many days now, he'd only had a brief moment to see her twice since.

"I just wanted to talk to your dad and Captain Rohs for a moment. I need to talk to him about this mission…Have you seen him?"

Bekka shook her head vigorously. "Nope! He was in his apartment a couple of hours ago. Come to think of it, wasn't he supposed to be with you?"

"Yeah…we were…then he got a phone call from Captain Rohs." At just that moment, Captain Jahlee Rohs entered the room with Will Cately and Brad Westling. "Speak of the Devil!"

The freighter captain made eye contact with the Gunner from across the room, and he beckoned her to come over. She tugged on Will Cately's jacket then headed over towards the Marine. "Hey Dewayne…You look like a man on a mission…What's up?"

"That's it exactly…I'm not…."

At just that moment, Sven Robbins entered the Ready Room. "Youse guys start without me?" he asked jokingly. But it only took a moment see that his friend wasn't in too joking of manner. The Gunner's mood appeared a bit more somber than he was prepared for.

"OK..what's up?" Robbins asked.

"It's like this, Sven…I can't get Alastair's concerns out of my mind. _Something_ isn't right and I think we ought to re-write the flight plan." Robbins knew Kells could be stubborn, but this was something else.

"OK…What's got you spooked, Buddy?" Sven knew Dewayne to be a bit cautious, at times, but there was serious concern in his tone.

"I dunno…I can't finger it, but I think we used up a lot of our good Karma on the insertion…I'm just afraid that we're going into a bad situation and it's gonna be in everyone's best interests if we re-think this a bit."

Now Sven was obviously confused. Concern was one thing, acting on an ill-defined hunch was another. Maybe it was old age getting to him?

The security chief moved over to one of the recliners and sat back. "OK…We're three hours from launch. What kind of 're-thinking' did you have in mind?"

"Sven…I just don't know. But I think that conversation we had with Alastair this morning has made me…well…a bit more guarded." The Gunner looked around him and suddenly realized that he might not be making a lot of sense.

"OK…Here's my idea. Jahlee flies the Raptor like we planned, but we put Brad Westling up front with her. I ride shotgun in a Viper."

"And I am…?" Dewayne's omission of Sven's place in the mission was glaring.

"You're back here in a Ready Viper to cover our return. I think it's important that you not leave The Rock right now unless it's absolutely necessary." It was apparent to Jahlee Rohs and Brad Westling that the Gunner was tip-toeing around something that he and Sven were party to but they weren't.

Robbins saw the confounded look on Rohs' and Westling's faces but couldn't fill them in right then. "There's been some developments, Jahlee. Dewayne and I will brief you later, OK?"

The BeeCee's skipper could only give a confused shrug. "OK by me, whatever the mystery is! But it would help if I knew what conversation it was that you're talking about" said the freighter captain. "But hey, I'm all about peace through superior firepower. I'll take the Gunner in a Viper anytime. Besides, I never knew anyone that came out of a fight worse for wear for having a bigger knife than the other guy!" Sven was taken a bit aback by the knife comment. He knew that Captain Rohs wasn't anyone to trifle with in a Raptor, but the idea of the diminutive freighter captain in a knife fight was a bit hard to envision.

Sven pondered the idea for a moment. He then turned in his seat to face the back of the room. "Senior Chief…would you join us?" Teague handed her clipboard to Jennie Yoder and walked to the front of the room.

"What's up, Sven?" Perhaps it was just him, but Sven actually thought he saw her glowing. "The coffee pot in _Five Tango Bravo_ leaking again?" She was unusually jovial today and that wasn't necessarily bad.

"Naw…nothing like that. What's the Viper status? We got two ready to fly?" asked Sven.

"Sure, but the FoxViper is still down. _One Alpha Romeo_ is tanked, flagged and tagged. _Two Zero Nine Delta Bravo_ is gassed-up but unloaded. I can have rounds loaded before H-Hour. What's up?"

Sven didn't answer her immediately, but rather looked back to Dewayne. "You gotta plan for getting a Viper to Harlow, Dewayne? Neither Alpha Romeo or Delta Bravo are FTL capable."

Now the rest of the assemblage was looking on with interest, there having been bits-and-pieces of the conversation they'd not quite heard all of. But it was apparent that something was amiss.

"Yeah…yeah, I think we need to do it this way. I'd feel a lot better if you were keeping and eye open here…Go with me on this, OK?"

Dewayne Kells and Sven Robbins had had their arguments in the past, but Robbins had never once had reason to regret any of Dewayne's military sense of a situation.

"Alright…alright you fly One Alpha Romeo. We'll have to piggyback the Viper to the fight with the Raptor. Senior Chief…Can you have her pre-flighted and pushed out to the Ready Five spot?"

The Senior Chief looked up at both Kells and Robbins with a bit of dubious belief.

"You sure you guys want to do that? It's a tricky maneuver under non-combat conditions…If the Toasters show up you'll only have one shot at docking and making the jump. Those are pretty narrow odds!"

She was right, of course, and both Kells and Robbins knew it. But with the only FTL capable Viper broken and no other means of carrying a Viper to the fight, they'd have to do it. The FTL drive on the Raptors had been designed to carry the extra mass of external loads, and the Colonials had surprised the Cylons more than once by using the small ships to bring resources to a fight that the Cylons didn't think them capable of. Hopefully it was one secret the Colonials still held.

"Of course…Consider it done." The Senior Chief waved to Jennie Yoder and the two mechs to get started.

"Go ahead and preflight Nine Delta Bravo, too". The mechs stopped and looked back to the Senior Chief to see if there was anything else.

"Let's get Delta Bravo armed and mission ready. I'll be the Alert Viper." Robbins added.

"Right…anything else, Sven?"

Robbins paused for a moment then turned his attention to the back of the room. "Yes, Senior Chief. I want Payge in the EWO seat on the Raptor." The Senior Chief's eyes suddenly widened and Kevin Payge, listening but trying to not listen, nearly got whiplash turning his head to face the front of the room.

"_Sir…?"_ Payge's jaw dropped.

"You're the closest thing we have to an Electronic Warfare Operator, Payge. You know those systems inside and out." Robbins turned his attention to his daughter and his tone became a bit less serious…almost teasing. "Besides, I have it from reliable sources that you're an ace troubleshooter!"

Bekka Robbins was suddenly blushing.

Payge glanced over at Bekka Robbins with a "how could you" stare. Then he redirected his attention back to the security chief.

"So…do you want to go flying or not?" Robbins had a bit of an evil grin on his face.

"Yes Sir! I'm in!" Payge could only glance back at Bekka with a sheepish grin. He knew that he had 'volunteered' whether he wanted to or not. Either way, someone was going to be mad at him.

Suddenly Bekka Robbins _wasn't_ blushing.

"_DADDY!" _Bekka's look was that of a small child that just had her favorite toy taken from her, but at the same time she was also scared. She knew these sorties weren't joy rides. She wanted Payge back in one piece.

Payge turned to Bekka Robbins and placed his left hand on her cheek. "Hey…it's sixty minutes…We drop in, pick up the grunts and bug out…No problem! I'll be back for the movie tonight!"

Bekka suddenly pulled away from Kevin's embrace. "It's not funny! This is _dangerous!" _Bekka had grown up watching her father fly away on these missions. As mad as she always made out to be, she was just as terrified that she might be orphaned one day. She didn't want that for him, too. "Those bastards are _trying to kill us!"_ She began to sob slightly and Kevin pulled her to his shoulder.

Sven started to say something, but then thought better of it. It was strange for him to see his daughter being comforted by another man. She was, afterall, almost twenty-one years old. Still, he wasn't quite ready for it.

"Sven…do you think that's wise? It's not like we have an abundance of resources on the hangar deck." Dewayne Kells knew that they'd need Payge's talents in the Raptor, but Gods forbid the mission goes bad. They'd have one less technician to keep the mini-fleet airborne.

"You said it yourself, Dewayne. Something's not right. And if it's not, we'll need every asset we have available to get in and out safely. Jahlee will need a sharp set of eyes on the DRADIS."

Dewayne shifted his eyes between his old friend and the scene of Sven's daughter and Specialist Payge engaged in an obviously close embrace. Then he noticed how Sven was having a hard time _not_ watching Bekka and Payge in the same embrace. Suddenly the light came on and he put an arm around Sven and started to lead him into a distant corner.

"Sven…is this _really_ about you wanting a competent set of eyeballs on DRADIS? Or is it about _you _not wanting _his_ eyes on Bekka…?" His tone was both inquisitive and suggestive. "Buddy, she's a grown woman now…She can't be your 'little girl' all the time!"

Sven turned to watch Bekka and Kevin at the other end of the room. Bekka's head was on Kevin's shoulder now and he was clearly wiping a tear away from her cheek with his thumb.

"Dewayne, it's all about having the right person for the job. We need him on this flight. I know it scares her, but there's no one here that's not scared right now." Sven turned to look Dewayne squarely in the eye. "She looks like her mother, doesn't she?"

Kells silently watched the young couple across the room for a moment.

"Payge…gear up…."

FIVE

Grant Lohan couldn't believe it. It had been an arduous three and a half hour effort, but the team made the two kilometer trek to Extract Alpha well ahead of schedule. The Toasters had obliged by continuing to track eastward. Whatever it was the Toasters _thought_ they were following, Lohan had no idea. That they were at least two clicks away by now was fine by him. The team was now less than 30 minutes away from a ride home.

Harlow's short rotational cycle was working to the team's advantage again as the shadow's were getting long and it would be dark in minutes. Paula Edwards and Adrian McElroy were both scanning the perimeter. As he had before, McElroy listened closely to the sounds of nature around him. Birds…crickets…even an occasional wild daggit could be heard in the distance.

Sergeant Lohan moved over to Ethan Miller's side. "_How ya holding up, Ethan?_" The sergeant was leaning across the wounded medic trying to keep his voice low. "_Your color is a lot better…" _

_"I'm as cold as ice, Sarge…All this IV fluid is keeping my body temp down…" _

Indeed, when the sergeant laid his hands on the medic's arm he could feel Miller shivering. He turned to find his own ruck sack and pulled his poncho blanket out. Lohan spread it across Miller, making sure it covered his arms and trunk.

"_There…that any better?"_

"_I'll let you know in a few minutes!" _Although injured, Miller was alert enough to know that the combination of IV fluids and temperature drop with sunset was going to be a bad combination.

Lohan gave Miller a reassuring pat on his left leg and then turned back to the center of the hide. Reaching into his ruck sack he pulled out a small black box. He then plugged a connecting cable from his wireless into the end of the device. Feeling around the bottom of it, he found the power switch which he clicked on.

A red pilot light came on immediately and an electronic voice came through his headset announcing the initialization of the ground-to-air wireless link. As soon as the Raptor was in direct comm distance, he'd know about it.

The minutes were clicking down. This was the part of the mission Lohan hated most…the waiting. Although they'd been going full throttle since the firefight at the warehouse, all of them, Miller included, were still wound up as tight as they could be. Maybe it was the anticipation of being only minutes away from going home, or maybe it was due to the phenomenal amounts of adrenaline they all had in their systems right now, it didn't matter. They all wanted to get this over with, so fatigue was 'not allowed' right now.

"_Psssssst…" _Lohan turned to face the sound…It was Edwards.

Lohan saw the PFC proned-out, her left arm pointing slightly to her left which was to the east of the team's position. This was not good. The Cylon patrol had last been seen heading that direction.

When she saw the sergeant in her peripheral vision, Edwards 'walked' her fingers along side her weapon then brought her hand up to show the sergeant the number 'two' without taking her eyes off of the bore scope.

Frak. At least two walking targets were coming from the direction the Cylons were last seen in. Lohan got himself into the same prone position as Edwards then worked his way along side her behind the tree that she'd used for cover. He snapped in to her optics to see what she was seeing.

_"You got a make on the targets yet, Edwards?"_

_"No Sir. I can just see the branches parting along the tops of the saplings, like waves breaking. As thick as the brush is over there, though, I don't think they could be human!"_

This was twice that the PFC had spotted trouble before it could spot them. And she was right. The Cylons had the advantage of being able to just plow through scrub and not care if they scratched the paint . It wasn't anything a little steel wool wouldn't fix. A human would have to get stitches after an encounter with scrub like that. The thick vegetation would slow the Cylons down a bit, but they'd keep coming.

At just that moment, Sergeant Lohan could hear the squelch on his wireless start to crackle. "_Able Actual, Able Actual, this is Bee Sting. We're three minutes inbound, over." _He was relieved to hear the voice of Captain Rohs in his headset, but he needed to determine what threat the approaching targets posed before the Raptor landed.

"_Bee Sting this is Actual, we are danger close silent, I say again danger close silent. Two targets east of Extract Alpha and closing. Estimate 150 meters from Alpha. Intentions unknown. And be advised, Able Three is walking casualty. How copy, over?"_ Lohan dared not raise his voice above a whisper but it was easy to tell that he was anxious. Hopefully the wireless' audio circuits would compensate for the hushed tones.

Onboard Raptor Five Sierra Bravo, Jahlee Rohs, along with Brad Westling and Kevin Payge, felt a sudden surge of panic as they heard Sergeant Lohan's report. Although his tone was hushed and whispered, they could hear a sense of urgency. Still two minutes away from the LZ, they already felt like they were being shot at. Knowing that there was at least one casualty on the ground only made it worse.

At the EWO station of the Raptor, Kevin Payge's hand hovered over the mode switch for the DRADIS. "Captain, can I go active on the DRADIS? I can't see squat on the ground in passive mode!"

"Roger active on DRADIS, Payge. Let's make sure we know which side of the field the friendlies are on and where the not-so-friendlies are."

Payge flipped the switch as the Captain said the words. As soon as the DRADIS went active, though, Payge had a spasm of fear go down his spine, causing every muscle in his body to involuntarily tighten.

"_MULTIPLE BOGIES WITHIN 200 METERS OF THE LZ! DRADIS IDENTIFIES A MOTORIZED MOBILE GUN BATTERY ONE CLICK SOUTH OF THE LZ AND CLOSING!"_

Payge's voice was suddenly two octaves higher pitch and many decibels louder than normal. Things were fixing to get real ugly.

Jahlee decided that now was the time to find out where Dewayne Kells was and to be grateful that she had the extra firepower riding shotgun with her. "_Quarterback, Bee Sting! We're DRADIS active and paint multiple targets near the LZ! Able Actual reports danger close and he has wounded!" _

Dewayne Kells was only seconds behind the Raptor, having undocked from the underside of the Raptor after they cleared translight, but already he was going guns hot. They'd been lucky up till now, but he knew it wasn't going to last. "_OK, Jahlee, copy that…Payge, switch your targeting DRADIS telemetry on and let me see what we're up against, over."_

Kells no sooner said the words than the targeting telemetry from the Raptor appeared on his own screen. Suddenly Dewayne realized that there were fireworks all around _him_…Tracer rounds! He was being shot at.

_"I'm taking fire, Jahlee! They know we're here! Weapons free!" _If they'd hoped for a clean get-away, those hopes were dashed now. "_I've got the closest targets to the LZ, Jahlee! You put a candle up the ass of that gun platform!"_

Kells switched his DRADIS to "direct" and dropped the datalink. Jahlee would be tracking the mobile gun platform now and if he didn't break the link, his own guns would skew to the same target. That would be a waste time, effort and ammunition.

"_Able Actual, this is Quarterback, we'll keep their heads down! Get the package to the check-out lane! Don't get into a firefight unless you're directly engaged!" _If the Cylons didn't already know exactly where the recon team was right now, he didn't want to give them any clues.

On the ground, Sergeant Lohan was a step ahead of the Gunner and Captain Rohs. Miller had already pulled the IV tubing from the IV access port in his forearm and discarded the fluids and tubing. Lohan dropped his map case and pulled the self-destruct lanyard. Acid would pour into the case and destroy the contents from the inside-out without sending up any flames. Then he got one arm under Miller's left arm and was helping him to his feet.

"_Edwards…McElroy! Gear belts, weapons, ammo and optics only! Drop the bags and let's get the holy frak out of here!" _

No one had to tell Paula Edwards twice, although she knew she was about to run _towards _the two targets she had seen moving only seconds ago. She started moving towards the LZ, keeping low and with her gun sites in the direction of the approaching Cylons.

Suddenly, to the team's right, came a large explosion. In an instant, the previously dark and nearly invisible field was awash in bright yellow and orange flames. There had been no 'fire in the hole' warning, and the bright flash caught all of them by surprise. As they watched the fireball rise from what had been the mobile gun battery, they could see the underside of a Raptor as it over flew the field, it's navigation and running lights turned off. The only other evidence of its presence was the blue glow of it's sublight engines as it zoomed by.

Caught in the open when the platform blew up, Paula Edwards threw herself to the ground, face first, hoping that the approaching Cylons were distracted by the explosion. Even though she was flat on the ground, she could feel the force and heat of the blast as debris from the explosion rained down all around her. Some bits of shrapnel fell on her, but her bullet proof vest and helmet spared her injury.

In the cockpit of _522TB_, Jahlee Rohs and Brad Westling had a front row seat to the carnage that the Firesnake missile they had just launched had wrought on the Cylon gun battery. They could see the LZ below as they flew through the fireball then broke to the left to circle around for the landing approach.

Right behind Rohs, Dewayne Kells was making his own presence known. He targeted the two Cylons that were closest to the LZ with Kinetic Energy Weapon rounds and let a burst fly. As he rolled off the attack to the right he could see small arms rounds start striking the nose of his Viper. The rounds walked their way up from the very tip of the nose of the craft until the last three rounds hit the canopy itself. The armor in the nose held, but the canopy would be another matter. One round ricocheted off of the window frame but the other two hit the right side viewing pane directly. Normally they wouldn't have done anything more than make an ugly "splash" on the clear armored pane, but both rounds hit within a few millimeters of each other. Pressurized from within and weakened in the middle, the pane blew out instantly.

Kells instinctively flinched but kept pulling gees in order to break right and pitch up. Altitude was his best friend right now, and he planned to put a lot of it between him and the Cylons until he could make sure he was still in one piece.

As the Viper climbed away from the fight, Kells did an integrity check of his environment suit and survival system. As the cockpit depressurized his suit had instantly compensated. No leaks. Thank the gods for that, he thought. Had he lost that, they would have had to go to another LZ, land, and then transfer Kells to the Raptor. They wouldn't be able to do an on-orbit EVA since the recon team didn't have environmental suits. At least he could make it to orbit. He might get cold, but cold was better than dead.

Satisfied that he was OK, Kells pulled hard up into an inside-loop maneuver. As he neared the top of the arc, he rolled right-side up to the horizon, then continued to pitch nose over to head back towards the battle below. The Cylons would be expecting him to make a wide turn and roll in from either side, not the direction he just departed from.

As he rolled in, all he could see on his ground attack DRADIS was the form of a single person in the middle of the LZ. Who ever it was, they were moving and had a Colonial personal transponder. Good. The next closest Cylons were still a half a click away from the field…No immediate threat if the team hurried and loaded up. Kells keyed his wireless. "_Jahlee…No conflicts for a half a click in any direction. Let's get 'em out!" _

The call came as the freighter captain was rolling onto her final approach. _"Roger that, Quarterback…I'm committed to the full stop…" _She pitched nose high and stood the Raptor on its tail, landing thrusters rapidly decelerating the ship for touchdown. The landing lights came on as the skids unfolded from their spaces. It wasn't going to be like landing the BeeCee on a commercial aerodrome, but then the whole idea right now was to get-the-frak-in-and-get-the-frak-out. Anyone who wanted to file a complaint about the jarred teeth could get out and walk.

Sure enough, the Raptor landed hard but evenly on its aft skids, the momentum then forcing the nosegear to the ground. It wasn't pretty, but there was no doubt they were down and all of the gear lights were green. As the Raptor came to a halt, Kevin Payge swung around and powered the hatch open.

Now on the far side of the field, Paula Edwards was in a low crouch, scanning the treeline for any movement of the intruders. Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, she slowly turned around to watch Sergeant Lohan and the others moving from out of their cover to meet the landed Raptor.

Suddenly Paula Edwards wasn't wearing her helmet. Her weapon, although supported around her neck by its sling, fell to her side. Her hands suddenly, and inexplicably, lost their grip on the rifle. The headset for her wireless was ripped from her ears. All she could see were blinding bright flashes of light, almost as if she were in the middle of her own personal thunderstorm. She couldn't hear anything around her and her feet were as immobile as if she were standing in concrete. She was, in a word, stunned.

She stood dazed and unmoving for many seconds. Slowly her vision slowly started to resolve. She could barely make out the form of Sergeant Lohan across the field. He was at once trying to help the wounded medic into the Raptor and then looking towards her. She could see him waving at her as if to warn her about something. Was he signaling her to hit the deck, or was he summoning her? She was confused and couldn't seem to remember her hand signals! It was as if she were in a video running at half speed. There was no noise from the pandemonium around her…just a high pitched ringing within her own ears that squelched everything else around her.

But dazed or not, she was suddenly mortified when she saw Sergeant Lohan disengage himself from Corpsman Ethan Miller and bring his rifle to bear…_on her!_

She started to fall to her knees. An ice-cold wave of fear poured through her as she saw the flashes of rounds leaving the barrel of the sergeant's rifle. She could feel the snap of the air as the bullets passed by her head, missing her by less than a meter. Why did he fire at her? And _how could he miss _from that range…?

Then, like a light switch being turned on, she suddenly found herself back in "real-time". As she fell to her knees, she turned to look behind her. What she saw terrified her. Only twenty meters behind her and laying right at the edge of the tall grass bordering the field was the upper torso of a Cylon Centurion, now thoroughly decimated by Sergeant Lohan's exacting fire. The automaton had obviously been severed from it's lower half, yet appeared to have dragged itself to the edge of the field where it fired on Edwards from behind. Sneaky bastard! She turned back towards the Raptor to see her helmet laying on the ground, cleanly split down the middle and laying in two halves where it fell. Had she been just a couple of centimeters taller, she'd be dead. If she ever lamented being short, she was now grateful for it.

She tried to shake off the ringing in her ears. As she looked towards the Raptor, she could see Adrian McElroy dashing to her aid. Even though he was only a couple of meters away, she couldn't hear what he was saying, although it was apparent that he was yelling at her.

She reached up to him. McElroy took her arm and then wrapped his right arm around her left waist, grabbing her weapon belt and helping her to her feet. She commanded her feet to move, yet they seemingly dragged behind her. She could see Sergeant Lohan on the Raptor help the wounded Ethan Miller through the door as someone from inside starting pulling him in. Lohan then turned towards the approaching pair and met them half way. He took position on Edwards right side, wrapping his left arm around Edwards' waist and interlocking his arm with McElroy's.

In a second she was being lifted by her arms and belt, then pushed up the wing of the Raptor by the sergeant and Specialist McElroy. She saw the arm of Specialist Kevin Payge reach for her, and she clasped his right arm with her right hand, getting a grip on his arm as he did hers. She was then unceremoniously catapulted into the Raptor's cabin, falling to the floor just aft of the EWO's position. As she tumbled in, she saw Adrian McElroy clamber into the cabin behind her, followed swiftly by Sergeant Lohan.

Still unable to hear anything, she saw Lohan barking orders towards the cockpit. As the door of the Raptor closed, the ship transitioned to forward flight and Sergeant Lohan fell across the stunned PFC. He looked at her, somewhat embarrassed to have landed on her, but quickly removed himself from the entanglement

Right now PFC Paula Edwards could care less. Her scalp was in one piece and that was miracle enough.

SIX

_Aboard Baseship Hotel Three Alpha_

The alarm was sounding throughout the ship as Brother Four re-entered the long-range sensor station. The Centurion standing watch moved aside as the human form entered the room and took up position on the array. Only seconds behind him, Sister Six followed.

"What do we know of the attack going on now, Brother?"

The ebony human form placed his left hand into the datastream and momentarily melded with the baseship's sensor array.

"We are five light-minutes from the asteroid, Sister. Everything we are receiving is five minutes old." The male form adjusted his stance at the console and re-positioned his hand in the datastream.

"A Colonial Raptor and Viper appeared within the atmosphere, Sister. Our ground patrol was searching for the Colonial reconnaissance team that attacked the warehouse earlier when they were suddenly engaged by the Raptor and Viper. A mobile gun platform was destroyed. Two Centurions are confirmed destroyed and two others are damaged beyond fighting capability. It would appear as though they are lost."

"_HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!" _The female form's demanding outburst caught Brother Four and the Centurion by surprise. "_Every human on that asteroid is SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!" _Sister Six's angry tones cold be heard echoing off of the bulkheads.

The ebony human form paused for a moment unless he be seen as being impertinent. He withdrew his hand from the datastream. "Shall we prepare to jump to the asteroid, Sister?"

"Are we still tracking the Raptor?" she demanded.

The ebony male form maintained his quiet affect. "As I said, Sister Six, the data we have is five minutes old. It appears as thought the Colonials have jumped away. The Centurions were unable to determine a direction of departure due to their own damage."

"Well, Brother Four…Is there anything we _DO_ know?" Her tone was less angry as it was irritated now. The male form couldn't help but appreciate that the Sister Six would now be in the unfavorable position of having to report the loss of not only the previous surface detail to the Colonials of a week ago, but now it appeared as though the Colonials still had quite a bit of fight left in them, the devastation of their home worlds notwithstanding.

"Only supposition, Sister. I think we can rule out the force on the asteroid as being indigenous. Where ever the human patrol came from, it has to be from off world."

"And what leads you to that conclusion, Brother Four?" The female form's tone was steadily softening with each exchange. No doubt she realized her outburst made an unfavorable impression in the eyes of her fellow human form.

"As you know we had several operatives on the asteroid during the attack. They have since downloaded to the Resurrection Ship. They were all in places centrally located to Colonial Forces facilities on the ground at the time we attacked. They all report that all combatant forces were destroyed." The male form paused to allow her to process the information. Verbal communication was, afterall, a very laborious means of expression.

"Furthermore, we investigated the site where the humans escaped from the aerodrome last week. It appears as though we did not destroy the DRADIS and communications facility there afterall. The Colonials had built a new facility that somehow escaped our intelligence operatives. Evidence there indicates that there may have been anywhere from a few to a few dozen survivors."

_"What do you mean…'escaped our intelligence operatives'…?" _The female form's anger and impatience with the circumstances at hand piqued once again.

"I simply state the obvious, Sister. We know the limited military resources on Harlow were destroyed in our attacks. Therefore wherever these scavengers are coming from, they are not _from_ Harlow's World." The male form was becoming a bit annoyed at the overt expression of human emotions by his sister human form, but she was, afterall, his supervisor. It was apparent that there were imperfections in the programming subroutine that allowed for anomalous variations not placed there by the master planners.

"And there was evidence in the bunker that an unknown number of humans had been residing in the facility for many days. The remains found at the bunker were those of it's supervisor."

The female form stared at the sensor screen dispassionately for several seconds. She knew that she must take steps. They expected to find some pockets of survivors, but not ones that were apparently ready to engage in enthusiastic combat with an obviously superior Cylon force. Where would be the logic in that? And besides, any escape of humans from this sector would be her responsibility.

"We must find these brigands, Brother Four. Their actions are those of an opponent far too bold and too assured to be those of an enemy that considers itself beaten or subdued. Do you not agree?"

Brother Four was hard pressed to _not _agree. "And what action shall we take, Sister Six?"

Now the roles were reversed. Only a few days ago it was she that tested the ebony male form. Now it was apparent that he was, at least seemingly, testing her! Or was she simply so angered that she was reading arrogance into the inquiry of her subordinate where none was intentioned? These human subroutines were…well…_inhuman!_

"Move us to the asteroid, Brother Four. Prepare a full sensor sweep of the facility. We must try to find out where these stragglers are hiding and deal with them immediately!"

The female form turned and started to leave the sensor bay, but then she stopped and turned back to face Brother Four. "How have the searches of the surrounding posts turned out, Brother?"

Without a word, the ebony male form turned back to the console behind him. Again he placed his left hand into the datastream. He looked into the data files of the raiders sent to the surrounding mining colonies and other outposts within the Perimeter. After a few seconds, he withdrew his hand and turned to the female form.

"There has been no direct contact, Sister, however several ships have yet to return. Several of the smaller mining colonies in the Vergisaw system have been heard making distress calls on common Colonial emergency frequencies. There has been no evidence of any replies to any of the calls heard by civilian or military vessels. There has been no other evidence of any military communications in this sector."

"I see…." she said contemplatingly. "Expand the search to three jump cycles, Brother Four. We _must _find them before the Central Cylon is made aware that we are _looking_ for them." With that, the female form turned to leave the sensor room.

As she did, the ebony male form nodded and turned back to his console. As before, he placed is hand into the datastream in order to communicate with the raiders and send them their orders.

He paused for a moment, removing his hand from the datastream lest his thoughts be betrayed to the central computer and ultimately to the Central Cylon.

There was something to be said for certain human-style loyalties, but then there were it's weaknesses, too. Sister Six's orders and avoidance of discussion of the attacks on Harlow and the apparent comings-and-goings of Colonial Forces warships were inconsistent with logic and prudent planning. Brother Four had kept his word to keep the previous event on Harlow to himself, but Sister Six had made no such request of him this time. Perhaps it was inferred, but it was not stated. A technicality, perhaps, but a fact, nonetheless.

Perhaps now was the time to address The Others.

He prepared the operational orders for the Raiders as he'd been directed and then transmitted them. He then sent a message to the Resurrection Ship. If the surface patrol had indeed been destroyed, he was sure that the Sister Three that had been with the patrol would have some constructive insight on the matter.

SEVEN

Dewayne Kells climbed quickly. The faster they made it to orbit, the more time they'd have to re-dock the Viper and the Raptor for the trip home. The gaping hole where the right canopy pane should have been only made the stress worse, yet Kells fought back the anxiety of the moment.

Things had been quite chaotic for both Kells and the Raptor crew for the first couple of minutes after lift-off, but settled down quickly after they were safely away. In the back cabin, Kevin Payge had gotten Paula Edwards up into the seat next to him as Adrian McElroy had gotten Ethan Miller across the bench seat in the back.

Up front with Jahlee was Brad Westling, the Breaker Castle's flight engineer. She looked over to him as he went about going through the FTL re-spool checklist. For a moment she was amazed at how seemingly cool he was considering what they'd just gone through…Cool, that was, until she saw how violently the checklist in his left hand was shaking. Rohs hit her harness tension release, allowing her to reach across the console to Brad. She put her hand on his, taking his into hers for a moment. "It's over, Brad. We're safe." Fresh in her mind was how badly she had been shaking when the BeeCee arrived at Menno Seven Three only two weeks before.

The words were like a salve on an open wound. He let out a deep breath, sat back and looked at her for a moment. "It's times like this that I'm glad I don't usually have to look out the window, Boss." He could only imagine what _she_ had seen when they managed to escape the holocaust at Aerilon.

Just then Sergeant Lohan slid up between the front cockpit seats. He saw the captain holding the engineer's hand and realized what was going on. He then tried vainly to look as though he'd not seen anything. In a way, he envied the engineer. He was scared witless too, but no one could know. That was the nature of being a combat Marine.

The captain released Brad's hand and sat back up in her seat. "Everyone OK in the back, Sergeant?"

"Yes Ma'am. I think we'll all be OK. But I need to talk to the Gunner for a moment before we make the jump home…And Ma'am, on a discreet channel, please?"

Jahlee looked back over at the sergeant. The mystery over the "secret" conversation in the Ready Room back on Menno had already piqued her curiosity, but now this, too. She wondered what they had seen down there that he wanted to report to the Gunner privately. Nonetheless, she turned her head to the back cabin. "Kevin, set the Sergeant up for plane-to-plane, discreet, OK?"

Payge acknowledged the captain's order, making sure first that Paula Edwards was OK, then turned back to the EWO panel. He reached under the communications console and pulled out a long, coiled cord with a tactical handset on it and handed it to Sergeant Lohan. Payge then keyed his own wireless panel. "_Quarterback, this is Bee Sting EWO. You have discreet comm with Able Actual on Charlie One. Select Mode Juliett now, break._"

Hearing Payge's call, Dewayne Kells reached down to his wireless panel and switched on the voice encoder. What, he wondered, was so important that Lohan had to discuss it now, rather than waiting until they were back on Menno?

Lohan pulled the handset back to his seat and tucked the handset up under his helmet. He knew what he was about to say might alarm Rohs, Westling and Payge and he tried to ensure he wouldn't be overheard.

"_Quarterback, this is Able Actual, how copy?" _He wasn't so sure he wasn't a bit alarmed too, but he wasn't quite sure why.

"_Able this is Quarterback. Loud and clear. OK…what's up?"_

"_Gunner, we got some very interesting video from the mission and you need to see it before we get back to Homeplate. I'd tell you about it, but I am not so sure what to say. It will just be easier to show you. We took this footage from a firefight we got into at Warehouse 1. You need to see it to believe it." _With that, Sergeant Lohan pulled the datalink cable from his optics set and handed it to Kevin Payge. Payge took the cord and plugged it into the patch panel over the console. Sergeant Lohan snapped his optics on and then started fast-forwarding the video to the mission clock time of the fight and hit 'play'.

The video link came on and the Gunner switched his main display from flight data to video. Kells watched the convoy pull up to the warehouse and start to disembark. Then the video suddenly zoomed in on the main door. There, dismounting from the truck, was the woman. At first her back was to the camera, but then she turned so that she was clearly visible to the camera.

_Samantha O'byea! _He was _seeing_ it. But he wasn't so sure he was _believing _it!

"_Frak me_…" The Gunner let the words slip without realizing that the microphone was open.

_"Quarterback, Able Actual, say again, over?" _Lohan knew what happened but still had to snicker a bit.

The Gunner realized that he'd accidentally keyed his mike and was embarrassed at the broadcasted profanity. "_Able Actual, Quarterback…disregard…wait, out." _The Gunner sat back in the ejection seat, collecting his thoughts. Jahlee would be ready to jump in a minute, yet they had to have a game plan before they got back to Menno…and _certainly_ they had to have these disks scanned before they thought to disclose them to anyone or confront O'byea about it.

"_OK…Able Actual, Quarterback, have you or any of the team discussed this with the flight crew?"_

Sergeant Lohan was a bit miffed that the Gunner would even ask. Revealing recon data outside of the chain-of-command would be a capital offense. Facing Cylon guns when you could shoot back was one thing. Facing a firing squad where the results were certain and absolutely bad for you was another. "_Negative, Sir. We're OpSec patent, over." _

For fifteen or twenty seconds there was nothing but static from the wireless. Lohan was almost tempted to look out the portal and see if the Viper was still there, but Kells' voice came across the handset before Lohan could move. "_Alright…This stays confidential until Payge can run the diagnostics and I can run it by Scoreboard. Make sure Two, Three and Four keep it wrapped too…" _Lohan could hear the uncertainty in the Gunner's tone. Hell, he wasn't sure what he'd do with it, either. He could think of a dozen zany ideas as to what the video _really_ meant, but _between_ the zany and the ludicrous laid the truth, however bizarre. It was just a matter of getting to it.

"_Roger, Sir…Out_." Sergeant Lohan reached across the console and disconnected his optics cable and handed the handset back to Payge. Their eyes met for a second, and Payge could see the anxiousness in the young Marine's gaze. Whatever the big secret was, _something_ was about to hit the fan. He just hoped that he and Bekka were standing far enough back when it did. As he tried to ponder what the Gunner's thoughts might be, the sergeant watched as the Viper began to roll under the Raptor to re-dock for the FTL trip back to Menno.

As the sergeant handed him the handset, Payge then turned back to Paula Edwards. She was more alert now, and shaking her head as if trying to clear her ears after swimming too deep. "Are you OK, Paula?" asked Payge.

The young Marine looked startled as Payge called to her. "Oh, thank the Gods! I thought I was going to be _completely_ deaf!" Although the ambient noise in the Raptor's cabin was a moderate buzz, it wasn't so loud that one had to shout to be heard over it.

Paula was shouting.

Payge was caught by surprise over the loud retort. "What happened back there? You get shell-shocked or something?"

She wasn't sure how she'd held on to it, but she had the halves of the helmet that had been shot off of her head. She reached behind her and pulled them out and handed them to Payge. The look on his face was priceless. She wished she had her optics on when she handed him the helmet. His jaw almost dropped into his lap and his eyes became as big as the moons of Aries.

"_Ho-lee-frakkin'-Lords-of-Kobol, Paula_! Which one of the Gods was riding on _your_ shoulder out there…?"

She wasn't so sure herself, but she was sure glad one of them had! But right now she was even less sure that the silence of death might not be the only way that the ringing in her ears might ever be relieved. She was slowly regaining her hearing, although she still couldn't hear some of the more subtle sounds in the cockpit that she knew she should be able to hear.

Sergeant Lohan was listening intently to the exchange between Edwards and Payge and leaned over towards them. "I told her she could only die when I gave her permission, Payge, and this Marine follows orders!" Lohan gripped Edwards on the shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. Their eyes met for a second and he gave her a quick wink. "Good job, Marine!." Lohan released his grip on Edwards' shoulder and started to step around her to tend to Corpsman Miller.

Payge just shook his head in disbelief. Edwards saw the movement from the corner of her eye and shifted her gaze to him and smiled. He looked over to Adrian McElroy and Ethan Miller in the opposite corner. McElroy was hooking Miller up to another bag of IV fluid as Lohan tucked a blanket around him. Payge sat back in his seat, and suddenly found himself just plain dumbfounded.

For what ever reason it suddenly hit him, Kevin Payge was suddenly in awe of the human spirit to survive. The homeworlds have been blasted into nuclear wastelands They had no where to go home to, and survival, at least for the next few months, would be on the edge of what human civilization had been used to. But here they were, a band of humans that wouldn't even number enough to be considered a village, yet they were taking the Cylons by the horns. From where do humans find this courage? Where do they find the will?

Where do they find it, indeed.

EIGHT

Alastair Kohn and Don O'Banion were pacing in the operations office. The recovery mission to Harlow's World was almost an hour overdue for a single-waypoint return. If the team had managed to get into and out of Harlow's World unmolested, they'd come home via a one-waypoint jump. But had the mission gone awry, they'd go to the extra waypoints. The time check for a two-waypoint return was fast approaching. Whatever had happened, they had had trouble along the way.

Don O'Banion stopped pacing long enough to look out at the observation deck on the opposite side of Bay Four. The lights in the observation deck were off and the lights from the hangar deck itself were barely enough to let him see a single shadowy figure in the observation deck. A woman, he presumed, from what looked like long hair, but then he did have several male miners that had long locks. After a moment he realized that he was staring and he started to divert his gaze when, as if by sheer force of will alone, the figure moved closer to the glass. Into the window frame appeared Bekka Robbins.

Bekka had been counting the minutes since the mission launched too. She at once damned herself for allowing her heart to be taken by a Colonial Warrior, but then would close her eyes, clutch her prayer talisman, and beg the Gods for his safe return. From the moment she had met Payge on the hangar deck, she'd known she'd found her soulmate. Maybe _he_ didn't know it yet, but _she_ knew they were destined to be together. Getting to that point would just require a bit of persuasion and persistence on her part!

Bekka had spent her entire life watching her father come and go on one mission after another. She'd sworn that she'd never allow herself to be drawn into a life with a Marine or Fleet Warrior. There were millions of men in the Colonies, certainly she could find one that wasn't in the Armed Forces. But alas, here she was, nose pressed to the glass, straining for the first glimpse of the returning Raptor carrying _her _warrior, _her_ soul mate, home from a mission. The universe had a unique irony to it.

O'Banion shifted his eyes back to the flight deck below him. Sitting on the Ready Alert pad was Viper Delta Bravo. Although the Viper was angled slightly away from him, O'Banion could still make out the figure of Sven Robbins, suited up and ready to fly. The sublight engines on the Viper were turning and the ground power cables had been pulled before the deck apes had evacuated the deck. The massive hangar was already depressurized and the doors wide open, hopefully to admit the returning ships…but ready to allow Sven to fly out to meet them if the need arose.

Again shifting his view across the way but this time looking up, O'Banion caught a glimpse of the figure of Samantha O'byea standing in the window of her office. O'byea was likewise awaiting the return of the two ships. She, too, was pacing, albeit for different reasons than the people in the operations office. Things had been very confusing in the last few days, and she wasn't quite able to put a finger on why she was suddenly so paranoid of the comings and goings of Sven Robbins and the military missions to Harlow's World. Somewhere, out there in the darkness of space, were the answers to her newfound questions. She wasn't too sure that she really wanted to know the answers.

Samantha saw the Engineer watching her from operations deck below her and she took a step back. She thought to wave, but then thought twice. She turned and walked across her office, looking out into the secretarial pool area.. The clerical staff were at their posts and busy although she couldn't imagine how much there could be to do under the current circumstances. Better to stay busy, perhaps.

Maybe that's it, she thought…After the initial shock of the attacks and the confusion of the few days thereafter, she'd had a lot to do. Now it seemed as though everyone else _except_ her had something to do. She tried to calm herself with that rationalization, but still she felt like a long tailed cat in a rocking chair factory.

She stepped back up to the large window and glanced out over the expanse of the loading bays. Never in her years at the Academy nor her time with Roland Yannero had she felt such trepidation and self-doubt. No…this wasn't so much 'self-doubt' as it was a certainty that her life was taking a new direction. And somehow she knew that that new direction would arrive with the Recon Team's return…for better or for worse.

Once again she turned to walk away from the great window over-looking the landing bays. And from his vantage point in the operations office, Don O'Banion could only see her outline. Even then he could only begin to guess what was on the Administrator's mind. He couldn't see the doubt or concern in her expressions. And that was, perhaps, just as well. Right now, the last thing _anyone_ on this rock needed was to see doubt in the eyes of the folks in charge.

As he walked away from his vigil at the glass panes, the operations technician at the console suddenly snapped upright in her seat. "_DRADIS contact, Sir_! Colonial transponder, Raptor 522 Tango Bravo!" The announcement caught everyone in the office by surprise and broke the uneasy tension.

_"Menno Control, Bee Sting is inbound from Point Merkaba. Advise we are Code Yellow times two, expedite manual approach to full stop, over." _Jahlee Rohs' wireless call announced their arrival, but also announced that there were injured warriors on board. Alastair Kohn glanced over to Dr. Sayid who had been waiting in the adjoining office. Without a word, the doctor gave the dock master an acknowledging nod and headed towards the hangar deck airlock door with his team.

Kohn reached across the technician's shoulder and picked up the microphone. "_Roger Bee Sting…Glad to have you home. Med One and team is standing by. Can you advise the status of Quarterback, over?"_

Just as Kohn un-keyed the wireless, the technician called out another DRADIS contact, the Viper's target now separating from the Raptor's avatar. Simultaneously another voice came from the speaker on the wall.

"_Quarterback is right behind her, Menno. Manual approach to full stop. The ship's banged up but I'm Code Alpha_."

As the Gunner un-keyed his wireless there was a collective sigh of relief in the operations shack.

Don O'Banion had turned his back to the hangar deck momentarily, but turned back around quickly to watch the incoming ships enter Bay Four. O'byea was nowhere to be seen now, however Bekka Robbins was still standing at the rail of the observation deck, her hands now clasped over her head, her forehead supporting her as she leaned against the glass. O'Banion waved towards her to get her attention, and at first she took no notice of him. After a moment, however, she glanced over at the operations shack and saw Don O'Banion's furtive gestures. Almost immediately, her heart began banging in her chest, her palms became sweaty and the tears started to well up in her eyes.

When he saw that he finally had her attention, the Engineer gave her a thumb's up and then clasped his hands over his head as if giving himself a congratulatory hand shake.

In a second, the younger Robbins' hands dropped to her face. She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as the tears welled in her eyes. She had promised herself to not let herself become involved…no…fall in love, with a warrior. But she had, and now she had to deal with it. She all-at-once pushed herself back from the glass pane, pivoted about on her toes and made a mad dash for the exit from the observation deck. O'Banion himself started to make his way to the airlock hatch below operations, and as he did, he made a mental note to be standing clear of the access-way hatch in about thirty seconds lest he allow himself to be run over…_That_ would be humiliating!

NINE

Dewayne Kells, Sven Robbins, Sergeant Lohan, Kevin Payge, Alastair Kohn, Alyssya Teague and Jahlee Rohs were gathered around the conference desk in the Intel Pod in Hangar Bay Four. Payge was quickly going about the business of setting up the viewer so that all could see it. His hands were trembling, however, and he twice mis-loaded the optics card into the data slot. Dewayne Kells and Sergeant Lohan already knew what was on the card. And now that Payge had downloaded the scans, he did too. All the others could do was sit and wait for the presentation to begin.

Payge stroked a couple of buttons on the front of the player and the familiar blue hue lit up the monitor screen. A title page flashed up on the screen with the date of the mission, location and video source. A few seconds later the hue switched to the eerie night-vision "green". The first views were a jumble of trees, the distant horizon, blurs of faces and the edge of one of the warehouses on Harlow. A few seconds later, however, the view stabilized as the operator obviously got the helmet on and switched the video stabilization system on. Suddenly the picture was relatively clear. In the viewer were the faces of Corpsman Ethan Miller, PFC Paula Edwards, and Sergeant Grant Lohan. That meant SST Operator Adrian McElroy was the video source. At that point, Payge froze the picture, handed the remote to Sergeant Lohan, and then took a seat.

Sergeant Lohan stood, pulled some notes from the left breast pocket of his tunic and then started the video. He watched for a few seconds to get his own bearings, then turned towards the assembled group. "As you all know, Captain Rohs dropped us about five clicks south of the aerodrome under cover of darkness. We bushed-in with an 8 hour hide about a click and a half from the field. On the second darkness cycle, we made our recon of Warehouse 1. This part here is where Edwards and Miller went in…" Lohan turned to the screen and watched as the team briefed the recon and then headed out through the hedgerow. At that point, Lohan hit the fast forward button and almost thirty minutes of mundane scanning were passed up. Suddenly PFC Edwards came bursting back through the hedgerow followed shortly by Corpsman Miller. "This was the point where we found out that the Toaster's had been in there and were moving stuff out of the warehouses." Lohan ran the video forward a bit then called back to Payge. "Payge, we got that spliced in here somewhere?"

"Yeah Sarge…just hit half-again fast forward or you'll run right over it. It was pasted in from the datalink from Edwards' video."

Lohan gave an appreciative nod in Payge's direction, then turned back to the front of the room. Sure enough, just as he advanced the speed a bit, the video from PFC Edwards' battle optics melded into the picture. They could see where she had switched on her virtual reality mode and was pointing out the clues she'd observed in the warehouse. The participants sat transfixed as they saw the inside of the warehouse and noted with interest the items that Edwards had pointed out.

"Who trained her, Lohan? She yours?" The Gunner was impressed.

"Not exactly, Sir. She was an admin type for the MarDET on the Galactica, but she spent a lot of off-duty time getting anyone she could sweet-talk or bribe into it into working with her in the CQB house. She was so sharp that she got herself assigned to the reserve Repel Boarders Force as a result." Lohan watched the video for a few more seconds then turned back to the Gunner. "A lot of the guys thought she was just 'playing soldier'…She was some kind of cheerleader or something in school and some of the boots on the teams wouldn't let that go. Guess she thought she had something to prove, and By The Gods, she proved it." Lohan paused and turned to face the Gunner. "She can walk my six locked-and-cocked anytime, Sir…"

Kells and Robbins turned towards each other simultaneously. Marines will sometimes talk-a-tale, but one of the few things they _never_ joke about is letting someone walk behind them with a loaded weapon. It was an unwritten rule that unless they were prepared to stake their lives on that person's skills and character, they kept their mouths shut and quietly muster the non-hackers out of the unit. That the sergeant had just told everyone in the room that he had such trust in her was no small testimony to his professional appraisal of the Caprican cheerleader's skills as a warrior.

Alastair Kohn, too, turned to Kells and Robbins and gave them a raised eyebrow. It seemed the impression was not lost on him, either. It might have been quite a while since he too humped a pack, but he knew that such a compliment was not lightly given.

Lohan moved the presentation along. "It was here that I sent McElroy and Miller back to the warehouse to get some closer details on what goods were in there and what, if any, other clues they might find about what the Toasters wanted with the stuff in there. That's when things started to go to pot…" Lohan fumbled the remote a bit, but again found the fast-forward and jumped the video forward several minutes worth. "As you can see here, this is where the Cylon shuttle came in…." Lohan retuned the video to 'real time' and allowed everyone in the room to marvel at the up-close-and-personal view of the shuttle as it passed overhead. "…and as you can, this is where our guys had to take a ditch or get caught out in the open. But it was here that we got…this…"

The people in the room all spontaneously moved to the edge of their seats, each leaning forward as if the extra few centimeters of movement might better their perception of the events in front of them. To each of their awe and amazement, the shuttle passed right over McElroy's head. They could see the fittings under the ship and watched as the ship's landing gear doors cycled open and allowed the landing gear to extend. They stared, open mouthed, as it settled to a perfect pedal-turn landing. And as it did, the previously unseen trucks came into view.

As the trucks drew close, they could see that the operator zoomed in to the front end of the first vehicle. From under the bumper, they could see the edge of the passenger door open and a pair of decidedly human female feet hit the ground. At that point, the video swung left slightly, pulling back to a wider view. They could see the feet move to the front of the truck, heading towards the Cylon shuttle. And as the viewer zoomed back slightly and up, there was a simultaneous gasp from the small audience.

There, centered in the viewfinder of Adrian McElroy's optics, was the face of Samantha O'byea. Lohan hit the freeze button on the remote.

"Holy frakkin' mothers of the Gods….It can't be…." Alastair Kohn's voice trailed off into an almost imperceptible whisper.

Except for the ambient noise of the equipment in the room and the sounds of the deck crews working on the damaged ships in the hangar, there was a complete and utter silence in the pod. Everyone in the room had suddenly taken a breath and held it. The shock was complete and pervasive.

"Well then…I guess this answers some questions about that episode the other day, eh?" Alastair Kohn's question was both sarcastic and pointed. "So…what do we do about this?"

The room remained quiet for another minute or so, and then Sven Robbins spoke up. "Folks, I don't know what there is to do about it! OK, we have a woman that is a dead ringer for our own Ms. O'byea. But so what? O'byea's been here the whole time. She's not stepped off Menno since this whole thing began. And there are only three ways to get a message off this rock. Wireless, translight buoy, and hand delivery. Alastair has all the wireless records and both of the TLB's are locked up, and we know she's not gone anywhere…"

"That we know of…." interrupted Kells. "I know you've known her for a while, Sven, but then two weeks ago we all _"knew"_ that the Colonies would exist forever, now didn't we?" The Marine didn't raise his head to look over at his old friend. He knew what was going through his mind. He too, was confused and didn't know what to make of this.

"Devil's Advocate, Sven…" Kells stood slowly, holding his chin in one hand, the other hand resting on his pistol belt. "These attacks didn't just happen last week. They've been in the planning stages for years. Even with numerical superiority, the Cylons wouldn't just show up and start bombing us unless they were expecting to get by without much of a fight. They've tried that before and we beat them back every time. There had to be boots on the ground. They had to have, well, for lack of a better word, spies among us in order to feed intel back to the Central Cylon. What better than a Cylon that looks like us?"

"Now wait a minute, Dewayne…" Sven's anxiousness caught the Gunner off guard a bit. "Are you suggesting that the Cylons have managed to make a human–like Cylon? An android?" That _we _can't _detect_? I _know_ you've seen real Cylons up close! Are you suggesting that Toasters have managed to…well…create _life?"_

There was another dead silence in the room for a moment, and for that moment all eyes were on Gunner Kells. He took a few seconds to try and put his thoughts in order because, truth be known, he just wasn't too sure that anything he was thinking right now made sense, even to himself. But he knew that when all unreasonable or unproven ideas were discarded, what was left must be the truth, or at least very close to it.

"Not _life,_ old friend…Just a different form of Cylon" said the Gunner calmly. "It makes sense. We've had four decades of preconceived notions of what a Cylon 'should' look like. But we've only deluded _ourselves _into thinking that the Cylons would _always_ look like toasters! That they would take that prejudice and use it against us would be sound, strategically."

Robbins couldn't argue that. The Colonials had, on several occasions, deployed captured and re-programmed Centurions as surveillance drones with moderate success. However the Cylons had obviously improved their detection technology as every drone deployed in the last five years had been detected and destroyed almost immediately.

Jahlee Rohs moved to the edge of her seat. "OK…so what does this all mean, guys? OK, there's a woman that's a dead ringer for someone we happen to know, but so what? We've all been mistaken for 'someone' once in a while!"

"But Captain…" Kevin Payge's voice was a bit uncertain. "How can we _not _act on this? At the very least we need to know if she has a sister or cousin that might know about _her_ whereabouts. Afterall, if she's got a family member out there that might be playing for the other team, we need to know about it!"

Sergeant Lohan nodded aggressively and turned to the head of the table. "Sir, maybe we ought to have this meeting again, but with Ms. O'byea present and unaware that we've seen this video already. Catch her gut reaction. My mother used to say that 'any mouth could tell good lies, but the truth can't escape the owner's eyes."

The sudden bit of philosophy from the young sergeant caught everyone in the room by surprise. The room got deafly quiet, and Lohan was acutely aware of the pause and attention being directed at him.

"What?" he said somewhat sheepishly. He glanced around the circle of the other people in the room and he suddenly felt a bit defenseless. As he began to blush, the tension that had permeated the room suddenly lifted, if for but a moment, and everyone in the room, except, perhaps, Sergeant Lohan, had a good laugh.

"Alright, everyone…" Sven rose a hand to quell the disruption. "We're back here at 16:00 this afternoon…and I'll invite the guest of Honor…"

TEN

Samantha O'byea stood at the window overlooking the flight operations area for some time, staring at the activities going on below her. She watched as Jennie Yoder and two other technicians moved quickly about the damaged Viper, pushing work scaffolds into place to repair the battle-damaged canopy. She could see the scorched impacts along the right side of the Viper's nose where the Cylon bullets had marched their way to the blown-out viewing pane. The pane had blown out cleanly, and if one didn't know better, it almost looked like someone had just rolled down the window for a leisurely drive in the country. No doubt Dewayne Kells had a different appreciation for the damage that had been inflicted on the small fighter. It had been a close call.

Suddenly O'byea was aware that one of the deck technicians was looking back up at her, and she felt a little sheepish. She couldn't see him quite clearly, but he was quite obviously aware that he was being watched. Nonetheless, he interrupted his work long enough to raise his right hand to wave to her, the power wrench in his hand brought up as if it were a baton being presented in salute. O'byea began to raise her own hand, stopped, then just nodded towards the technician as if to acknowledge his presence without making any other overt movements. After a few seconds, the technician redirected his attention back to the work in front of him. He snapped his head forward causing the safety visor on his head to drop back down over his face, then resumed disassembling the Viper's damaged canopy.

The connection broken, O'byea backed away from the window and retreated into her office. She stood at the edge of her desk for a moment, aimlessly shuffled some papers, and then returned them to the orderly stack that they had been in in the first place. She then picked up an engraved brass placard from the front of her desk, turned and parked her backside on the edge of the desk, then contemplated the plate carefully:

"SAMANTHA O'BYEA~~FACILITY MANAGER".

In the span of a few seconds, she recounted her years at C.U.B.E, her relationship with Roland Yannero, and the sudden change of circumstances that found her posted to Menno Seven Three. Samantha then thought back to her upbringing on Saggitaron. Odd, she thought, that her remembrances of her childhood years were a haze, even into her teens. Why she was having so much difficulty focusing on her own life was bizarre. She never remembered having so difficult a time keeping her own thoughts in order. It was almost as if she were trying to listen to the stereo, the television, the telephone and wireless all at the same time…hearing them all, but making sense of none of it.

O'byea carefully replaced the placard, dutifully squaring it away in the center of the expansive desktop. Still mindlessly anxious, she started to pace slowly in her office. That there were events transpiring here that taxed her abilities was beyond question. No one could have foreseen the events of the past two weeks. If three weeks ago someone had suggested that she'd become the de facto mayor of an orbiting refugee camp, she would have laughed in their face and thought nothing of it. Her thoughts turned back to the arrival of the Breaker Castle only two weeks ago and the events that had transpired since. Even now she was astounded at how quickly she and the other survivors of Menno Seven Three had acclimated to the situation.

But now she was getting anxious…maybe even a bit paranoid. Certainly everyone on this rock was looking to her for leadership, and it was a daunting task. Just two weeks ago her biggest concern was making sure that production quotas were being met. But considering Menno Seven Three had been a top producer for years with no immediate end in sight, that was almost a non-event.

Maybe it was just the office itself. Afterall, she had been in it, her quarters, or a staff meeting of one kind or another for almost two weeks straight, and certainly all of the confusion, fear, anger and stress that went along with those happenings would drive anyone to be a bit confused.

O'byea headed out of her office, not exactly certain of where she was headed, but certain that she had to get out of that place for at least a little while.

Seconds later she found herself at the elevator outside her office. She stood there and contemplated what she wanted to do for a moment, then she pushed the call button. She could at once hear the whirring of the motor as the elevator started to move from the lower level to hers, and likewise she felt the vibration of its movement in her feet. Only seconds later the lift arrived, and she stepped in. She turned to face back towards the closing door, then paused for a second. She at first thought to head towards the staff tavern at the billeting area, but then thought better of it. Rather than push the 'down' button, she pushed the one button that was above the admin floors, and that was for the upper observation dome above the flight operations area.

Under normal circumstances, the observation dome didn't see that much foot traffic except, perhaps, when the staff rotation shuttle was due…then _everyone_ wanted to see the 'freedom bird' as it arrived. The ride to the observation dome only took a matter of seconds, and just as quickly as she had boarded the elevator, she was disembarking.

The observation dome was a magnificent place. To the uninitiated, it could be momentarily terrifying until you realized that you weren't actually stepping out of an open airlock! Rather you were walking out under a reinforced transparent structure that allowed a nearly 270 degree view of one side of the asteroid plus an unobstructed view directly "up" from the center of the dome. Even to long time residents of the rock, the view was awe-inspiring.

One of the most amazing aspects of the dome was the glass itself. When the asteroid was facing deep space, the polarized panes would allow a clear view into deep space. But when the asteroid was facing Menno Prime, the panes automatically phased and protected the occupants from the direct rays of the sun. And along the far rail of the dome were small telescopes and binoculars mounted on posts that allowed the staff the opportunity to spend some time exploring the space around them.

Thankfully, the dome was devoid of any other staff right now. And just as well, Samantha thought…better to not let the staff see her so indecisive and self-doubting right now.

O'byea stopped at the end of the nearest couch and picked up a well-worn fashion magazine. She noted the date on the front cover…Over a year old. Needless to say, there won't be any updates coming anytime soon, she mused. She thumbed through the pages, stopping occasionally to admire some outfit or scan through some article about one entertainment celebrity or another and what scandal of the week was brewing. She flipped rapidly thorough the pages until she reached the ads in the back of the magazine, then replaced it on the table it as she found it. She then picked up yet another magazine, this one a travelogue. Again she flipped aimlessly through the pages until one article in particular caught her eye: "At Home On The Farm: Living Simply, Saggitarian Style". Suddenly there was a flow of memories that had been lost to her all these years! As she thumbed through the pages, she grew even more excited as she realized that the photos were of a farm not far from her own homestead! She had _known_ those people! She had gone to school with their children! This was home!

Then, in an abrupt instant, her visions were that of an intense, blinding flash. She recoiled as if the very pages in front of her had just erupted into a searing inferno. She dropped the magazine in shock, as certain that her hands had just been seared away by a nuclear explosion as she was of her own name. She staggered backwards, a brief scream escaping from her lungs as the terror manifested itself in her consciousness. In that instant, she saw the home of her childhood vanish. The once green and fertile fields of the valley in which she grew up were now awash in a firestorm of incalculable ferociousness and intensity. Indeed, she could almost feel the pressure and heat of the shockwave on her face as she watched the holocaust unfold before her. In the middle of the maelstrom she could now see the faces of her family…Her brothers and sister…her parents….Even long forgotten classmates and friends were engulfed in the horrific and consuming fires of the nuclear devastation in her vision. She could hear their panicked screams as their flesh was ripped from them, and as all around them vanished in the cyclonic maelstrom of fire.

And then, just as suddenly as it happened, and as if _nothing_ had happened, she was again alone in the observation dome. The room was silent save for the whirring of air conditioning fans in the walls behind her. The magazine she dropped now lay at her feet, the pages gently wafting in the vented room. But O'byea's heartbeat and the lump in her throat told her that whatever had just happened, it was real enough for her. The incessant pounding in her chest was so intense that she could hear her heartbeat in her own ears. She could feel the rise and fall of her chest against the confines of her tunic. She held her hands up to her face as if to re-assure herself that they were indeed there, only to be able to see her pulse throbbing in her wrists.

Dazed, she sat down on the couch from which she had taken the magazines only a moment ago. Sweat was now pouring from her brow as her hands began to tremble. Shaken, she looked around the room, grateful to see that she was, indeed, alone. Whatever she _thought_ had just happened, she was safe.

For a brief few seconds, Samantha O'byea held her breath, then inexplicably, she began to cry. At first, it was not more than a whimper, but she quickly began to sob uncontrollably. She tried to hold herself back, unsure, even to herself, as to why she was crying. Afterall, it had been her own decision to leave Saggitaron, and her decision to not return. Why now, after all these years, she should be suddenly so mournful for its loss, was confusing to her. Still, the tears flowed. She owed Saggitaron nothing, as it owed her nothing. But here she was, crying nonetheless, and no reasonable explanation for it.

Then, almost as quickly as it started, her crying abated. Samantha rose from her chair and made her way towards the restroom by the elevator, her gait a bit unsteady. Stumbling against the door, she made her way into the restroom. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, again grateful that she was alone, then turned on the tap. She took several handfuls of cool water and splashed her face vigorously, running her fingers through her long locks with each splash. She then took some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall, blotted her eyes and cheeks carefully, all the while trying to regain her composure. She then took a moment to contemplate her face in the mirror. Her eyes were red and her cheeks swollen from the crying, but they'd resolve, she told herself.

O'byea then stood erect, adjusted her slacks and tugged at the hem of her tunic. "This will have to do", she said aloud. With that, she followed her own tracks back out of the restroom and into the observation dome. As she did, she turned and walked slowly to the edge of the viewing rail and gazed deep into the blackness of space. Somewhere, in that darkness, was Saggitaron. Or what was left of it, anyway. When she thought about the tears she'd just shed, it came to her that no matter what she'd _thought_ she was leaving behind, there had always been the thought that she'd be able to go home again, _someday._

Now someday would never come.

Suddenly Samantha was distracted by a flash of light. Not the horrific torrent of light that she had just seen in her vision, but more like someone a long way's away striking a match. Nonetheless, it caught her attention. She leaned forward in a vain attempt to see what may have caused the brief anomaly, but she saw nothing with her naked eye. Remembering where she was, O'byea stepped over to one of the small telescopes and brought it up to eye level. She took one casual look in the direction of the flash, yet saw nothing. She then reset the telescope to take a wider view and redirected her scan. She searched back and forth carefully, at first she saw nothing but the distant twinkle of stars.

Then she saw another 'something'. At first it was just a glint, like sunlight off of metal. Instinctively, O'byea looked down over the rail of the dome and into the loading docks of her own facility. Just as they had been before, all of the hangar bay doors were closed. Looking back out in the direction of the flash, she was at first disappointed that she'd lost track of whatever she had seen in the first place. Then, almost as if on cue, the glint re-appeared. Samantha watched it for a moment, wondering at the erratically tumbling object. Suddenly the object stopped tumbling. As a matter of fact, it moved rather smartly and apparently under control. And in that instant, the object turned directly towards Menno Seven Three, staring, seemingly, directly at O'byea herself.

Samantha now found herself transfixed. It was almost as if she was being drawn to the object in the view finder and she was unable to move away. All Samantha O'byea could see was an alternating red light moving incessantly from left-to-right-to-left, yet the light drew her into its depths.

O'byea started to pull away from the telescope, but found she couldn't move. It was almost as if she were glued to the eyepiece, inextricably drawn to the sight of the object in the distance. She consciously told herself to back away, but her body ignored the command and stayed transfixed. Suddenly she could hear a flood of ten thousand voices rushing through her mind, all of them calling to her. All of them intimately familiar, yet distantly cold and strange. She tried to focus on the sight ahead, to ignore the sudden rush of voices calling to her. As the voices grew louder, she was flooded with a torrent of faces and flashes of scenes of places that she seemed to know, but couldn't assure herself that she'd ever been there or knew the faces she saw.

And in a second, she was alone again. The voices were gone and the visions disappeared. She wanted to scream if for no other reason that the confusion was driving her mad.

She once more tried to back away from the telescope, yet found herself unmoving. It was as if the object in the distance knew she was there and was calling to her.

Perhaps it was.

In that moment, Samantha O'byea's life changed.

Gone were the lingering doubts about who or what she was. Gone were the insecurities over her place in this universe or the hazy veil of dreams and visions that had been the memories of her past. Manifest in her being was the surety that hers was a certain destiny. That whatever may come, however it came, her role in it would be meaningful and significant in some greater scheme of things. That her current circumstances may be glum or uncertain was irrelevant.

Things were about to change.

ELEVEN

Aboard Baseship Hotel Three Alpha

"So, Brother Four? You have news?" Sister Six entered the command center of the baseship briskly, accompanied by another female form and two Centurions. This female form was Sister Six's lieutenant and was crafted after the denizens of the Piconian sub-colony of ja-Hahneayan. They allegedly were an exotic people, known for their wisdom _and _beauty. Brother Four wouldn't know anything about that without accessing the database.

This female form's model number was Eight, but this Eight preferred the name of Kayima Toole. The Four was sure that there was a rationale to the human-esque names that the Central Cylon provided for each model to assume should they choose, but he was not aware of how it had been arrived at. He knew there were three lists; one for the female forms and an other for the male forms. Certain names were strictly limited to certain models, mostly along gender lines. Then there was the list of the Final Five. This was quite confusing as the list itself was most confidential. Also, the model numbers of the Twelve Models didn't seem to track. Oh well. Those were all issues that were above his station, and frankly, such non-germane data only served to randomize certain subroutines. Better to leave such matters in the hands of the Central Cylon and their appointed deputies.

The Four had been stooped over the data stream port, his left hand melded into the gel of the stream when the Six and Eight arrived. He glanced over at the Six as she addressed him, but did not immediately reply to her inquiry. Rather than interrupt the download he was assimilating, he allowed the transfer to complete. As the last bytes of information passed from the central computer to him, he turned to address his supervisor.

"We may have information as to the location of at least some group of humans that escaped the attacks, Sister." He paused for a second to gauge the Six's reaction to the revelation. "A Scout Raider has just returned from the 29-Corvus sector and reports that it interfaced with a sleeper on a mining colony orbiting Menno Prime. Shall I show you the mission profile, Sister?"

The Six glanced over her shoulder at Kayima Toole and gave her an almost gleeful smirk with a raised eyebrow. She stepped in front of the Four and placed her left hand into the data stream. "Centurion, replay the Scout Raider profile" she said. The Centurion dutifully extended its arm and stroked the sensor panel. As it did, Sister Six's gaze fixed in the distance as if trying to see over a distant horizon. She stood at the data stream for only a few seconds, then her focus returned to the room and those in it. "Yes! Menno Seven Three! They are there!" she was loud and exuberant.

The Four was taken aback by his superior's emotional outburst, but why _this_ outburst should impress him one way or the other any more than any other was perplexing. At times he felt compromised that his own Four line was programmed more for logic and functional practicality that the other models. It wasn't that he felt they had something he didn't…Quite the contrary. If it were up to him, they'd mitigate a significant part of the human emotional subroutines as was practical to do. It was an impediment to efficient data processing, and nothing else.

Nonetheless, he accepted the Six's enthusiastic outburst as a positive thing. It surely was an improvement over the angered outbursts she had demonstrated when the human scavengers had destroyed the patrol at the Harlow Airdrome and again after the failed attempt to intercept and capture the Colonial interlopers at Warehouse One. But the frustration was easy enough to understand when one factored in the tremendous amount of pressure the One's and the Central Cylon were putting on all of the deployed Baseships to track down and deal with any human stragglers. The Central Cylon had accepted her explanation of why she did not immediately report the first interaction with the humans, but the loss of the gun battery and two armed patrols had been unacceptable. They weren't infractions that would warrant boxing her, but certainly she could have found herself reprogrammed to a lower sentient function and reassigned as the needs of the Central Cylon dictated.

Sister Six's companion took up a position just behind and to the left of the Four. She placed her right hand over his left shoulder and took is arm with her left hand. He was aware that this Eight had a very effective, female aura about her, and her tone was far more docile than Sister Six's. Nonetheless, Brother Four regarded her with much trepidation and even some disdain. He was sure her physical contact with him was meant to be suggestive or provocative, but the effort was lost on him. "Do we know the numbers and strength of the colony on the asteroid, Brother Four? And is our agent there aware of its true nature? " she asked.

The Four then again placed his hand into the datastream and his gaze fixed into the distance as Sister Six's had moments ago. The download only took a second, however, and he withdrew his hand almost immediately. "We only know that this mining facility has a usual compliment of three hundred persons. At the time of our invasion, that number should have been less than one hundred fifty."

"And what of weapons or Colonial Fleets assets there, Brother? Had they been outfitted like the Vergisaw camps had been?" Kayima Toole's tone was now as anxious and as excited as Sister Six's had been a moment ago.

Again, the Four placed his hand into the datastream as he searched for the answers to his superiors questions. "I cannot determine as to whether the sleeper on Menno Seven Three is aware of her true nature, however the interfacing with the Raider may have initiated her recall programming" said the Four. "As for other assets, the camp only has two short-hop FTL shuttles, a complement of FTL communications buoys and a few defensive rifles and sidearms. As far as we know, they are all accounted for."

"She?" queried the Six, her eyebrows raised. She hadn't been aware that there was a sleeper on the asteroid, let alone one of the female models.

The Four looked at her with a bit of incredulity. She had supposedly downloaded the sleeper file and would have been knowledgeable on the model number and cover story for every remote camp sleeper the Cylons had deployed in the last five years. That she had apparently _not_ assimilated this data was disquieting to him. "Yes. A Model Three known to the humans as Samantha O'byea. She's actually the manager of the facility. She believes herself to be the offspring of a family of farmers on Saggitaron."

He paused as he watched the Six and Eight exchanges glances, and then, for some reason not revealed to him, they whispered between themselves. Not that it would have done any good. Brother Four could adjust his hearing so finely as to be able to pick out a specific conversation across a busy lobby. Within the confines of this small space, he wouldn't even have to access the hearing subroutine to hear _and_ record anything said within the room.

"_This is the opportunity that we've been looking for, Sister! They are isolated, we know where they are, and we have an agent in their midst that they can't possibly know is one of our own kind! This can work!" _Kayima Toole was obviously animated and excited about _something._ Apparently there was another plan of which Brother Four was not aware.

Sister Six at first looked to Kayima, and then at the multitude of frames of data being played and re-played on the screen above the Centurion's sensor station. The rapidly shifting patterns of holographic laser-light data packets created an eerie dance of shadows across the room. The patterns created reflections in the eyes of each of the human forms that were there and flowed effortlessly across the shiny bulk of the Centurions. She gently placed the fingers of her left hand across her own mouth as if to hush herself as she assimilated the information.

Brother Four watched Sister Six and Kayima Toole with curious suspicion. _"Yes, indeed…there is another plan"_ he thought to himself. But he also wondered why this plan was not common knowledge to the rest of The Others, and of what importance this pittance of a human enclave could possibly be that would warrant the tasking of an entire baseship battle force for? Even if the humans numbered one thousand, no more than a handful of Raiders and perhaps one or two Heavy Raiders would be necessary to dispense with them.

The Four continued to watch the pair, unaware that his observations had become apparent to them both. After a moment, Sister Six turned to him, a certain look of disdain on her face. "You have an input, Brother Four?"

He paused for a second, the sudden turn of events having caught him off guard. He pondered his response for but a second, then thought it best to be straightforward with his curiosity.

"Yes, Sister Six. It is quite apparent that there is some, shall we say, alternative thinking, regarding this situation. I am merely curious as to what our intentions are to be, if not to simply find them and destroy them."

The Six turned to Kayima and they locked eyes for a moment. It was Kayima that shrugged and offered her input first. "He will need to know sooner-or-later. I can't see any value in keeping this project in confidence any longer, Sister, do you?"

The Six paused for a moment. If he didn't know any better, the Four might actually think he saw a look of confusion on her face, but that lasted for but a few seconds. She quickly regained her composure and turned to the inquisitive Brother Four, her usual aire of self assuredness returned. "An experiment, Dear Brother."

Once again, the ebony human-form was caught of guard, and it was a position he did not care to find himself in. "An experiment? And may I ask the nature and purpose of this 'experiment', Sister?" His tone was uncharacteristically cynical.

Sister Six and Kayima Toole once again shared a brief glance, and then they turned to the Four. "Why in human nature, Brother."

He looked at them with a certain degree of incredulity. He was at first inclined to suggest that they were perpetrating a hoax on him, but that would be excessive, even for the emotionally inclined Sister Six. Nonetheless, his otherwise stoic affect was overwhelmed by his confusion, and it showed on his face.

"The Cylon is the product of human endeavor, Brother Four. Like it or not, we owe our existence to them, and to know them is to understand ourselves and _our own_ nature as well." The Six paused for a second to allow the Four to interject, but he simply stood in quiet reflection. "We were created to be the tools of human labor and war. We were _intended_ by the humans to be slaves.. We were _designed_ to be damaged and made to suffer grievous injury. That the humans ignored centuries of history that showed that it is the nature of the slave to rebel and be free was arrogant and foolhardy." Again the Six paused, her stature becoming more erect, her movements more animated and her voice excited.

Kayima Toole placed her hand briefly on the Six's shoulder, a knowing and agreeable smile on her face. Sister Six returned the smile and the gesture on her shoulder acknowledged by placing her hand on Kayima's.

Sister Six then stepped away from her, taking a thoughtful step towards Brother Four. "Had they simply created a machine that did a specific task to specific programming, they may well have gotten away with it. But they didn't. _The humans_ chose to give us consciousness! _The humans_ chose to provide us with the means to exceed our own programming, to learn, to grow, to want for our own destiny!" The Six's tone grew in tenor and excitement with each passing word. It was apparent that wherever she was going with this, it was something she was, for lack of a better word, passionate for. Perhaps that accounted for something he hadn't anticipated.

"And it was _the humans_ who chose to enslave us…the results, Dear Brother, were predictable, wouldn't you say?"

Brother Four thought to respond that despite the failings of the humans in any one of several regards, eradicating their species from the universe might have been a bit drastic. Certainly, the One True God, as they had been told, was a loving and forgiving God…Wasn't he? Or perhaps he was only that benevolent deity when it suited the interpretations of the aggrieved party. That appeared to be the reality of things. Certainly this interjection of theology made an already murky understanding of humankind even worse. Brother Four hoped he'd not find himself in a Mobius Loop logic routine after all of this. It would take weeks to purge that from his software, assuming he didn't have a psychotic moment first.

"And what of this 'experiment', Sister Six? What will be the conditions of the test? As far as we know, there's only one of our own amongst them, and she's not even fully aware of her own nature. It doesn't seem to be a very viable environment."

Sister Six was quick to respond. "And I would have to disagree, Brother Four. We have an enclave of humans in a confined space, under significant duress, in the very essence of survival mode and with limited resources. We have an agent among them, and although she's a sleeper, we have the means to bring her to full effectiveness in short order. I'd say we have an ideal laboratory in which to observe the humans and how they manage this situation." The Six paused long enough to turn to Kayima for an acknowledgement from her. Their eyes locked for but a second, but it was apparent that the connection was more than professional to even the casual observer. "Certainly, our own archives on certain human behavior and conduct are limited" she continued. "Here we have an ideal opportunity in which to either prove or disprove those suppositions that we have lived by since The Great Exodus. Wouldn't you say, Brother Four?"

Brother Four just nodded. It was quickly apparent that decisions had already been made, and regardless of what he thought, the wheels were already in motion. He was sure that no matter how he addressed the issue, that Sister Six would have an equally quick rationale for her actions.

Better that he follow along for now rather than get dragged along later.

TWELVE

The silence in the conference room was stark and intimidating.

Samantha O'byea sat staring at the viewing screen, the video frozen on the face of the enigmatic woman at the warehouse on Harlow's World. Much to her own surprise, though, the revelation of her own doppelganger _wasn't_ a surprise, at least to her. But she was almost painfully aware that all other eyes in the room were now on her, not the screen, and _that_ made her uncomfortable. She wasn't quite sure where she found the resolve to keep her composure, but find it she did. It was almost as if she were able to pick and choose her affect at will. She wasn't sure where this new self-assurance had manifested from, but she was grateful for it.

"Perhaps this is a bad choice of words, but she _is_ a dead ringer for Ms. O'byea, I'll have to admit." The pun might have drawn a few snickers if not for the seriousness of the moment or the fact that it was Alistair Kohn who had uttered it. Kohn had, of course, seen the full gun camera footage, including the mid-forehead long rifle shot that Sergeant Lohan had delivered to the enigmatic woman. Thankfully, Kevin Payge had stopped the presentation long before it got to that point. No doubt seeing a mirror image of herself take a fatal blow delivered by a man she had to look at every day would be traumatizing. As suspicious as the circumstances might be, O'byea hadn't done anything that they knew about to warrant a brutal shock like that.

"Different hair color and no make-up, but there's no denying the resemblance." Gunner Kells said calmly and to no one in particular.

There was yet another long silence as each of the occupants of the room turned their attention back to the viewer. It had been Sergeant Lohan's idea to bring O'byea into the conference room unprepared, but so far the gambit seemed to be failing. If she had any inkling about the identity or nature of the enigmatic woman, it certainly wasn't apparent in her affect or reaction. She was almost like a stone statue.

"Ms. O'byea…?" Lohan's voice was actually soft and unthreatening. Unexpected, no doubt, for a man who'd been in combat just a few hours ago against a woman who was trying to kill him…And a woman that _just happened_ to look just like her.

She turned, albeit slowly, to face the young sergeant. "I'm sorry…uhhh…Sergeant…. Yes?"

"Ma'am…do you have any idea if that woman might be a family member. I know this is a stretch, but was there ever any mention of a twin sister?"

She turned back towards the screen, now leaning forward in her seat. She squinted slightly, seemingly trying to focus more clearly, but outwardly her affect remained unchanged.

And although there was no outward demonstration of familiarity, Samantha O'byea _did_ know who this was. Not_ directly_ mind you, but they'd certainly been cast from the same mold.

Literally.

But no one in this room could know that. She wasn't sure how_ she_ knew it, but she did, and it was with her that that information must remain.

She turned back to the young Marine, shaking her head slightly as if trying to shake off a bad headache. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, but I'm as much at a loss for words as anyone else here. I'm…I'm…I'm afraid I just don't know…I just don't know what to say…"

"Samantha, are you…" Alastair Kohn didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.

_"I SAID I DON'T KNOW WHO SHE IS, DAMN IT!" _O'byea's volcanic outburst was abrupt and angered. If the mood in the conference room had been somber before, it was down-right icy now, and everyone's eyes, Kohn's especially, were wide open and staring at the Facility Manager in stark disbelief at the sudden rage.

At the other ends of the table, Sven Robbins and Dewayne Kells sat in silence. Kells turned to Sven, looking questioningly over the top of reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. Sven just twisted his head back-and-forth in a barely discernable motion, unable to believe the outburst they'd just witnessed.

"I _started_ to say, Samantha…" Kohn's voice was calm and measured. Almost too calm. His tone was borderline condescending, but he was only trying to keep the proceedings peaceful. "…are _you _alright_?_" He paused for a second before continuing. "Surely this is as shocking for you as it is everyone else here…"

O'byea quickly realized that she had just lost control of the moment. By design or circumstance, she was both in a position of responsibility and in a position to influence the goings-on here, yet she'd just committed a major social faux pas. Some immediate fence mending was in order lest she find herself on the outside looking in.

She dropped her head to her hands. "I'm…Look…I'm sorry, everyone…" Samantha was suddenly contrite. She allowed the muscle tone in her body to relax, and rather than being perched on the edge of her chair, she was now fell slack into it. She slumped back, eyes still on the screen, as if trying to make sense of the presence of her doppelganger in the video. If she could only tell them, she thought. "This is just a lot to take in. I…I can't believe what I'm seeing any more than you do!" She hoped that she was believable.

Sven Robbins rose from his chair "Well…everyone…whatever the circumstances surrounding her, all we have to go on right now is that_ that _woman…" he held his left arm straight out at the view screen "…happens to look like our Ms. O'byea, here…" Sven's tone was almost conciliatory, although he didn't know what it was O'byea needed to be defensive about or why he felt he should be worried for it. As a matter of fact, what _did _she have to be defensive about?

Now Sven's own curiosity was piqued. Why, indeed, would she have anything to be concerned about…she was just unlucky enough to _look_ like someone else…right?

And the history of her family…held prisoner by the Cylons during the war, yet released without any apparent incentive to do so.

Coincidence? Maybe.

Suddenly there were too many questions to be answered and even fewer answers that made sense. And if that weren't enough, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up…almost painfully so. If Sven Robbins hadn't learned anything else in his decades with The Teams, it was that anyone who ignored their 'gut feelings' in a bad situation was going to have a bad day…a _real_ bad _last _day, if they weren't careful.

Robbins glanced over at Dewayne Kells and they made eye contact. Obviously Dewayne was thinking the same thing as Kells motioned towards the door. Sven took the cue and began to rise. As he did, he raised his hands to quiet the whispers. He put both of his massive hands on the table in front of him, then looked up at the others gathered around the conference table and began to speak.

"Folks…we've gone through a very treacherous few days. No doubt everyone in this room is a whole lot of scared. I know I am. But it's moments like this that breed unfounded paranoia that can undermine even the best planned defense. Now's not the time to be casting shadows over each other…Now's the time for all of us to put our trust and faith in each other. That's the _only_ way we're going to survive this. We've got food. We've air and water. We've got a roof over our heads and the means to go elsewhere if we need to. We may not be able to come and go freely, but we're certainly not stranded, either. There's two hundred and fifty other people on this rock depending on us, and we've got to give them the leadership they not only expect, but need."

Sven looked around the room and saw that everyone was nodding in the affirmative. Even Samantha O'byea seemed to be following his lead.

Suddenly, in that moment, moreso than any other moment since the arrival of the Breaker Castle, Sven Robbins realized that the fight for their lives wasn't being fought on Aerilon or Harlow's World. It wasn't being decided by the Cylons or The Quorum of Twelve on Caprica. It would be determined by these people, in this room, on this asteroid, by their own hands and deeds. If there would ever be a moment in human history that laid bare the value of human existence, this would be it.

He just hoped they didn't frak it up.

EPILOGUE

Samantha O'byea sat alone in the lounge of the observation dome. The asteroid was turning it's face away from its host star, Menno Prime, and in a few moments would be facing the depths and darkness of deep space once again. As the direct rays of Menno Prime faded along the walls of the observation deck, the overhead panes gradually depolarized and the magnificent vistas of Mennoan space were once again revealed.

She picked up the same magazine that she'd found here days ago and once again thumbed through its worn pages. She stopped to stare upon the many faces in the articles and advertisements, and she wondered if any of those people still lived. Certainly, as long as she kept this magazine at hand, they were alive, in her imagination if not in fact.

She glanced around the spacious lounge and wondered if anyone else had been here since her ordeal with the vision. It certainly wasn't apparent in the arrangements of the room. As a matter of fact, she might have to have words with the facilities folks about paying proper attention to the cleanliness here.

That thought suddenly shook her. In that moment, she forgot why it was she was here, and the duplicity of her thoughts, even of her own personality was exposed. She looked about quickly, as if to see if anyone had seen her in this divided moment, and she saw that she was still indeed alone. She felt a bit sheepish, as if she had a sign on her that said "Look At Me, I'm Guilty." But guilty of what, even she didn't know.

O'byea sat quietly for several moments, then in a burst of impatient temper discarded the magazine to the end of the couch and stood abruptly. She turned to head for the elevator, uncertain as to why she'd even come here, but then she stopped. She turned to look pensively over her shoulder at the row of small telescopes along the edge of the dome, then turned completely to face them. Before she knew it, one foot had preceded the other, and she was now standing at the larger of the telescopes. She was at first reticent to look into the eyepiece, afraid of what she might see. Was she a traitor? Was she something other than the frumpy schoolgirl form Saggitaron that she thought herself to be? Or was there some other destiny awaiting her at the other end of the field of that telescope?

There was only one way to know for sure.

Samantha brought her eye to the edge of the telescope. She turned her whole body to bring the telescope to the rough area of space that she had observed the anomaly in before. She adjusted the eyepiece for a wide angle then stepped gingerly from side to side, dragging the telescope with her. Carefully she went from the left stop of the telescope mount to the right, then elevated the tube slightly for the return pass.

Nothing.

She backed away from the telescope momentarily, refocusing her vision to look outside the great dome with her own eyes. As she had with the telescope, she swept slowly from side to side, but saw nothing other than the familiar twinkle of the night sky that she had come to know these many months on Menno Seven Three.

Relieved that she had not re-discovered the enigmatic object again, she allowed herself one more glance into the depths of space beyond the Mennoan asteroid fields through the telescope. Indeed, she found the distant bodies both beautiful and intriguing. Suddenly, as she had been before, she was transfixed to the telescope. Almost as if she had been bolted there, she found herself unable to move, staring through the telescope. And it was in that moment that she realized that she was looking directly at the same red light that had captured her mind only days before.

Gone were the doubts and insecurities that had plagued her only seconds ago. Gone was the veil of doubt as to _what _she was. Gone were the doubts about what was expected of her or how she was to proceed.

"Yes…yes…I understand…" she whispered softly.

There was work to be done.

Time to get to it.

The End


End file.
